Between The Lines
by Willow Edmond
Summary: A series of Short stories and one shots that take place in my primary world. A Little Bit More - Seth gets a chance to talk to Payton about her feelings about becoming an older sister again. Being Payton, she has more worries than most children. Can Payton's Da help her through this?
1. Chapter 1

The Explanation

I've had an idea rolling around in my head for awhile and I finally decided to do something about it.

Ever since I started the "Cinnamon Saga" I've found myself having odd thought sometimes, of little stories, one shots or vignettes of different scenes and things that I could imagine taking place in the lives of Dean and his family, but not enough to work into a full blown multi-chapter. But, I didn't want to put them all as single stories, because it would be hard on people who might want to follow them. So, I came up with this idea. My plan is to put them all here/ Think of this as a "book" of short stories, no more than two parts-.

I hope that this concept works, and I hope that you enjoy the stories, the ones that are here, and the ones that will be coming.

* * *

**Table of Contents.**

Chapter One: _Table of Contents_. You're here now, you know what this is about.

Chapter Two: _Neil and the Giant Tomato Plant - _It's Cinnamon's first night back to work since the accident, and Dean has to babysit for his son for the first time. Fortunately, he's gotten much more comfortable with Neil. Or has he?

Chapter Three: _Blinded By The Lights - _When a neighbor insults Cinnamon and Dean's Christmas light display, Dean decides this means war.

Chapter Four: _The Morning After_ \- (This story takes place right after Promises To Keep) Neil and Dean wake up early and decide to make breakfast so Cinnamon can sleep in. Dean decides he should tell Neil that he and his mother (Dean and Cinnamon) are getting married.

Chapter Five: _Chasing the Darkness _Pt 1 - When Neil comes home from school upset, Dean realized his son got a whole lot more from him than just his good looks. Can Dean help his son learn how to deal with the darkness?

Chapter Six: _Chasing the Darkness _Pt 2- Now that Dean has had the chance to calm Neil down a bit, maybe it's time to find out what was bothering him in the first place. And what should he do when he has to Chase the Darkness in the future?

Chapter Seven: _And In This Corner_ Pt 1- It's a typical Monday before RAW for Dean Ambrose, until he find out that Hunter and Stephanie have decided he has to take two people claiming to be his number one fans on a backstage tour.

Chapter Eight: _And In This Corner Pt 2_ \- Dean gets the chance to let Neil show off in the ring. And while most of the roster is happy to watch, that doesn't mean everyone is. Someone is wondering what all this fuss is about. (This concludes this story)

Chapter Nine: _Pennies - _Two women around the same age get on an elevator together. And while they have things in common, they are both very different people.

Chapter Ten: _Chance Encounters Pt. 1_ – A younger Cinnamon Nolan finds herself and Neil stranded in a dangerous neighborhood until a woman comes to her rescuse

Chapter Eleven: _Chance Encounters Pt 2_ – Cinnamon and her rescuer get a chance to talk. But this woman seems to know more about Cinnamon than she thought.

Chapter Twelve: _Coincidental Changes_ \- Cinnamon comes home early from work, Jessica is happy and Kayla is distracted. What's going on? And what does this mean for Dean, Roman, and Seth?

Chapter Thirteen: _A Little Bit More_ \- Seth gets a chance to talk to Payton about her feelings about becoming an older sister again. Being Payton, she has more worries than most children. Can Payton's Da help her through this?


	2. Neil and The Giant Tomato Plant

**Disclaimer Dean Ambrose is the property of the WWE and/or the actor / sports entertainer / superstar that portray him. This story is intended as tribute only and is not intended to infringe on any copyrights. **

**Original characters are the property of me, and the children of my own imagination. Any resemblance to any real persons, living or dead is purely coincidental.**

* * *

_**Dedication: This story is for psion53. And if she reads it, she'll know exactly why. **_

**Neil and the Giant Tomato Plant**

"I'm not sure I'm ready to handle this," Dean said, trying not to sound as nervous as he was feeling.

Cinnamon turned from the door she had been just about to open and looked over him. "We talked about this. I _have_ to go back to work. You're staying here until the beginning of next year, and you agreed to watch Neil on these nights."

"Yeah, I know," Dean said, frowning. "But I'm new to this parent thing... what if I screw up?"

Cinnamon fought against rolling her eyes and instead forced herself to smile. "You're doing great with Neil. Seriously, you're super. And Neil is asleep. Chances are he won't wake up until tomorrow. So, just watch some TV or do whatever, and go to bed when you're tired. Neil is nine, he's not an infant, you don't have to worry about feeding or changing him."

Dean dragged his foot across the floor, like a child being told to do a particularly difficult chore and sighed. "What if he wakes up and has to go to the bathroom."

Cinnamon stared, trying to keep the look of exasperation off her face. "Then he'll go to the bathroom," she said. "Again, Dean, he's nine. He doesn't need his nappies changed."

"But he's got that cast on!" Dean protested. "It makes it hard for him to move, what if he gets up and really, really, has to go?"

He was looking into her eyes and Cinnamon could see the fear in there, the terror that he would screw up and something terrible would go wrong, and while her heart went out to him, she had already taken off the last two weeks to care for Neil, she had to get to work. If Dean hadn't decided to take some time off and stay with them, she'd have Jasper Coleman or one of the college girls she used for babysitters here, and none of them would have worried so much. "He's getting good on the crutches," she said, trying to sound casual, easy, like this was a breeze. The tone of voice that would install some confidence in him. "If he has to go, he'll get to the bathroom and go."

"But what if he wakes up and has to go really, really, bad?" Dean said, "Like so bad he can barely stand it?"

_Don't roll your eyes, don't roll your eyes,_ Cinnamon ordered herself and out loud said, "Nobody has to go that bad."

"Says a girl who can cross her legs and hold it back," he muttered. "Not so easy for guys."

Cinnamon walked over, wrapped her arms around him and gave him a lingering kiss. "You will do just great, Dean. You have my cell number if you need it. Have some faith. You'll probably just watch some TV or read a book, and go to bed. You'll see, Neil hasn't woken up during the night for almost a week, he'll be fine."

He kissed her back, part of him wanting to start nibbling her neck, but knowing she was not going to put up with that right now. But when he broke away, he couldn't help but mumble, "Knowing my luck, this'll be the night he starts waking up again."

"You'll be fine." She drew away and headed for the door.

"If our kid is worse tomorrow, it'll be your fault," He continued.

"You'll be great."

"I'm a really sound sleeper," he pointed out.

"That's fine, he's a really good yeller," she countered.

"What if the house catches on fire?"

"We have the alarm, the fire department will be notified and the noise will wake you." Cinnamon opened the door. "You'll be great, love you, bye!" And before he could make another objection, she walked out the door, shut it firmly behind her, and headed for her car.

Frowning, Dean went and shot the deadbolt through. This was a good neighborhood, but you couldn't be too careful. Neil wasn't moving very fast and if someone broke in, the poor kid wouldn't be able to run very fast.

When he was done with the deadbolt, he went though the house and made sure all the windows were locked and the back door, too. He was tired, he had to admit. Neil and Cinnamon could be early risers, and he'd fallen into the pattern. Part of him wanted to just go to the master bedroom and flop into bed, but he was so tired he was afraid he'd fall into a deep sleep and that would mean Neil would have to scream for a long time before Dean would hear him.

* * *

Dean woke up to the sound of someone gasping. He sat upright, his shoulder protesting, reminding him that he'd hurt it way too many times in the past and it did not like laying on hard surfaces. His mind raced, trying to figure out where he was.

"Dad?" The small room suddenly filled with light. Neil's fingers were on the switch to the little lamp on his nightstand.

"What?" Dean asked, trying to sound casual.

"Were you sleeping on the floor?" Neil asked, brows furrowed in puzzlement.

"Uh...no." Dean rubbed his shoulder and looked around the room.

"Then why are you on the floor?" Neil asked, his head tipped to one side.

"Uh, I tripped." Dean nodded, warming up to the lie. "I heard you move and came running in and tripped."

"You came running in with a pillow and Mom's bedspread?"

"You're not buying it, are you?" Dean sighed.

"Uh, no," Neil said. "I'm not." He rubbed his eyes and yawned.

Dean scrambled to his feet. "Well, what I was doing in here isn't the point. The point is, I heard you. I heard you waking up and like any good parent, I was here for you. Are you okay?" He walked over to the bed, wincing as he always did when he saw the cast that looked so huge on his son's skinny leg and the splinted fingers on his right hand.

"I had a bad dream," Neil said, shrugging, trying to downplay his nightmare.

"About what?"

"The well." Neil sighed and struggled to sit up and swing his legs off the bed so he could stand. "I never dream about the good part, the rescue, just being down there. I hate it. And now I have to pee."

Hardly aware he was doing it, Dean helped Neil to his feet, slipping his crutches under his arm for him. Normally, Neil was pretty stubborn about things, insisting that he could "Do it himself," but he had been asleep and his body and mind weren't fully awake. "Do you dream about it, often?" Dean asked.

"Almost every night since I stopped the pain medicine." Neil let his father help him get to his feet.

Dean frowned as he walked with his son across the room. Neil had been off the painkillers at his own insistence four nights after he had come home from the hospital. He had only been taking them at night anyway, to help him sleep, but he finally told his folks he hated how they made him feel the next day. "They make me feel fuzzy," he explained. "And like I'm in cloud or something. Nothing is real. And I don't like it."

Being a paramedic, Cinnamon knew painkillers were optional. Being the son of a drug addict, Dean wanted to do anything he could to discourage his son from enjoying getting high. So, they started giving him a dose of Children's Motrin an hour before bed and until now, Dean thought it had been working just fine. As he helped him across the hall to the bathroom, he wondered if maybe they had been hasty.

"Uh, Dad?" Neil asked, as they walked into the small bathroom together.

"What?"

"I got this," Neil blushed slightly, indicating the toilet.

"Oh, sorry!" Dean backed out of the room. The first few days with the cast, Neil had needed a lot of help doing every day things, but he was learning how to do them now with the cast and the finger splints and he fought to keep those bits of independence fiercely. Dean was learning another parental lesson with this, sometimes you had to let your kid do things for himself. "Tell you what," he said, closing the door to give Neil his privacy. "I'll make some hot chocolate," _I can make hot chocolate, right? I mean, it's not hard, right? Open an envelope, dump in the hot water? _ "Would you like that?"

"Yeah," Neil said. "And.." his voice trailed off.

"And what?" Dean asked.

"Can I have another dose?"

"Is the pain that bad?" Dean asked. He had learned that Neil was pretty good at hiding pain. Something that would no doubt benefit him if he grew up to be a wrestler like he said he wanted. However, it was not always a good thing for a child to be doing. And it meant when he did complain about pain, that his parents took him very seriously.

"Yeah."

"When did you take your last dose?"

"Around eight."

"Okay, we'll see."

* * *

Ten minutes later, Neil was back in bed and Dean had brought in two cups of hot chocolate and another dose of Children's Motrin. It was 2:00 in the morning and the directions said the dose could be repeated every six to eight hours, so he felt safe with that. What Dean didn't like was that it seemed to take about an hour or so to take effect, which was why they dosed him an hour before bedtime. _Parents should have special abilities, _Dean thought, not for the first time. _We should be able to take our kid's pain and give it to ourselves instead. Why haven't we evolved to be able to do that?_ He put both cups of hot chocolate on the nightstand and handed Neil the cup of liquid Motrin, berry flavored. or at least that's what the bottle said. Dean had tasted a drop of it once and found it tasted more like something that would squirt out of a berry's ass if a berry had an ass. Neil drank it down without a complaint though. When that was finished, Dean took his hot chocolate off the nightstand and handed it to him.

"Thanks," Neil accepted it and began to sip, gratefully. "This is pretty good."

"I used milk instead of water," Dean said, then added, "The directions said it was okay."

"I like it this way." Neil took another sip, getting a chocolate mustache around his mouth, something Dean privately found absolutely adorable, but knew Neil would hate it if he mentioned it. "It's creamier."

_Score one for me_, Dean thought, taking a sip of his own. Neil was right, it was creamier. He made a mental note to ask Cinnamon why she didn't use milk for hot chocolate all the time. When she was in a good mood, and not likely to take it as criticism. "Pain still bad?"

Neil shrugged. "I can manage, you can go back to bed... like in Mom's room, you don't have to sleep on the floor."

"Nah, I'm fine," Dean said, "I'm not going to be able to fall back asleep for an hour, so maybe we can do something." _One hour and the pain med will be kicking in and he'll probably fall asleep. Keep his mind off the pain until then._

"What should we do?"

Dean thought about his own childhood and what he had done when he'd woken up in the middle of the night in pain. Well, his mother was never much of a help, so he was usually forced to deal with the problem himself. He would sometimes try to watch the broken down black and white TV in his room, the one that only got two channels. Or, sometimes he'd read. Dean had learned at an early age that libraries were good places to hang out when he had to get out of the house. They were free and there was a lot of entertainment in the form of books. He knew Neil loved to read, and he knew he and Cinnamon often read books that were advanced for his age together, so she could explain things to him. But, he didn't want to read a book to him that he and Cinnamon were sharing, that seemed wrong. "Maybe I could tell you a story?" He suggested, hoping Neil wouldn't find the idea babyish.

"What story?" Neil asked, looking interested.

_I guess nine isn't too old to hear a story,_ Dean thought. "Uh let me think... your Uncle Roman told me a story once."

"Really?" Neil tipped his head to one side. "Aren't you a little old for Uncle Roman to be telling you stories?"

"It was a really bad night," Dean admitted. "We were driving and I was exhausted and he told me a story to keep me awake. It was the night Shield broke up."

"Oh," Neil nodded, immediately seeming to understand. "So, tell me the story."

Dean thought for a moment, then remembered that the story had ended with Seth being dressed up like a Diva with purple and pink dyed hair having to take on every single member of the WWE roster single handed after having been castrated with a pair of rusty gardening sheers. It had been a most enjoyable story at the time, but he, Roman and Seth had patched things up, and he was pretty sure that story would not be Cinna_mom_ approved. "Uh, no... now that I remember, it was a pretty boring story."

Neil's eyes narrowed, not buying his excuse at all. "It had a lot of sex and unnecessary violence in it, didn't it?"

"Maybe," Dean admitted, wondering if castrating someone with rusty garden sheers counted as sex, or just violence. "Uh.. how about Jack and the Beanstalk?" It was one of the few fairy tales he knew pretty well. About the only book he had owned as a toddler was a copy of Jack and the Beanstalk. He didn't know how he had gotten it, it had always been there, always beaten up. He remembered he would follow his mother around the house with the book, begging her to read it to him. Most of the time, she refused, but every once in awhile, she would give in and read it to him. Or, sometimes one of the many "relatives" that were always crashing in their place would read it to him too. Not many people knew this, it was something for some reason he wanted to keep private as a child, but he had pretty much taught himself to read with that book. He had wanted to be able to enjoy the story any time he wanted, so he had forced himself to memorize every single word and studied the letters and the words until he knew how they worked. When he finally was old enough for school, his teachers were amazed at how quickly he learned to read, not knowing he had been self taught.

"That's a kid's story," Neil said, rolling his eyes and taking another sip of his hot chocolate.

"Yeah, you're right," Dean said. "How about I grab your history book and we can work on having you catch up on the schoolwork you missed."

"I haven't heard Jack and the Beanstalk in years," Neil said hastily. "I'd love to hear it again.

Dean smiled. "I thought so." He shifted on the bed, so he was lying next to Neil, leaning against the headboard. Carefully, he slipped an arm around his son, encouraging the kid to cuddle up to him, which he did very easily. _Wow, we've made serious progress,_ Dean thought. He put his hot chocolate mug, which was almost empty, on the nightstand. Neil drained his cup and handed it to Dean, letting Dean do the same to his. "All set?" Dean asked, kissing the top of Neil's head.

"All set," Neil said.

* * *

_"Once upon a time there was a poor widow-"_

* * *

"Does she have to be a widow?" Neil asked.

"She's always a widow." Dean was puzzled by this.

"Fairy tales always have widows in it. Like only widows are poor. Let's do something else!" Neil twisted his neck so he could look at his father.

"Okay," Dean said, a bit hesitantly. "What should she be, then?"

"A wrestler," Neil suggested.

"A poor Diva?"

"Yeah, maybe she got injured so she can't wrestle anymore, and that's why she's poor. 'Cause she never went to college first so she'd have something to fall back on in case the wrestling didn't work out."

Dean stared at him. "You look just like me, but you are _so_ your mother's son. Okay then,"

* * *

_"Once upon a time there was a poor unemployed Diva who had an only son named Jack-"_

* * *

"Does his name have to be Jack?" Neil frowned. "There's a kid in school named Jack and he cuts these really smelly wet sounding farts during lunch. I hate that name."

"Okay, what do you suggest we call him?"

"I don't know, anything but Jack."

"How about Neil?"

Neil nodded. "That works."

"Okay then, let's try this again."

* * *

_"Once upon a time there was a poor unemployed Diva who had an only son named __Neil. She was very poor, for times had been hard, and Neil was too young to work. Almost all the furniture of the little cottage had been sold to buy bread, until at last there was nothing left worth selling. Only the good cow, Milky White, remained, and she gave milk every morning, which they took to market and sold-"_

* * *

"Why a cow?"

"What do you mean, why a cow? Cows give milk."

"Goats give milk, why can't it be a goat?"

"Does it matter?"

"I like goats better than cows."

"Fine." Dean tried not to grit his teeth.

* * *

_Only the good goat, Milky White remained and she gave milk every morning which they took to market and sold._ _But one sad day Milky White gave no milk, and then things looked bad indeed._

_"Never mind, mother," said Neil. "We must sell Milky White. Trust me to make a good bargain, "and away he went to the market._

_For some time he went along very sadly,-but after a little he quite recovered his spirits._

_"I may as well ride as walk," said he; so instead of leading the goat by the halter,-"_

* * *

"You can't ride a goat."

"You're the one who insisted it be a goat instead of a cow, you have to live with it."

"Why couldn't Neil just keep walking along side of the goat?"

"Because that's not the way the story goes. We'll say it was an extra large goat and Neil was an extra small boy."

"All right, but it's kind of silly."

* * *

_"I may as well ride as walk," said he; so instead of leading the goat by the halter, he jumped on her back, and so he went whistling along until he met a butcher. _

_"Good morning,"said the butcher.  
"Good morning, sir," answered Neil.  
"Where are you going?" said the butcher.  
"I am going to market to sell the goat."_

_"It's lucky I met you," said the butcher. "You may save yourself the trouble of going so far."_

_With this, he put his hand in his pocket, and pulled out five curious-looking beans._

* * *

"Why beans?"

"Because the story is Jack and the Beanstalk. You can't have a beanstalk without beans."

"Why does it have to be a beanstalk, why can't it be something else?"

"Like what?" Dean tried not to look bewildered.

"Tomato seeds," Neil said. "I like tomatoes."

"Fine, tomato seeds then!"

* * *

**_"_**_What do you call these?" he said. _

_"tomato seeds," said Neil._

_Yes," said he, "tomato seeds, but they're the most wonderful tomato seeds that ever were known.__If you plant them overnight, by the next morning they'll grow up and reach the sky. But to save you the trouble of going all the way to market, I don't mind exchanging them for that goat of yours."_

_"Done!" cried Neil, who was so delighted with the bargain that he ran all the way home to tell his mother how lucky he had been._

_But oh! how disappointed the poor __Diva__ was."Off to bed with you!" she cried; and she was so angry that she threw the tomato seeds out of the window into the garden. So poor Neil went to bed without any supper, and cried himself to sleep._

* * *

"Story Neil is kind of a wuss, isn't he?"

"What do you mean?"

"Okay, it would suck, I mean, be awful, to go to bed without supper, but to then cry yourself to sleep?"

"Neil and his mom are poor, so I'm sure they get just enough food to survive, so missing a meal really sucks."

"If they need food that bad, that missing one meal could hurt their health, then Diva Mom is a lousy mother."

"She's very upset, her son just pretty much gave away the only thing of value they owned!"

"Sometimes Mom has been really mad at me, but she never didn't feed me."

"Can I continue?"

"Sure, this is good, I like this version." Neil snuggled closer to Dean.

* * *

_When he woke up the next morning, the room was almost dark; and Neil jumped out of bed and ran to the window to see what was the matter. The sun was shining brightly outside, but from the ground right up beside his window there was growing a great tomato __plant__, which stretched up and up as far as he could see, into the sky._

_"I'__ll__ just see where it leads to," thought Neil, and with that he stepped out of the window on to the tomato __tomato plant__, and began to climb upwards. He climbed up and up, till after a time his mother's cottage looked a mere speck below, but at last the stalk ended, and he found himself in a new and beautiful country. A little way off there was a great castle, with a broad road leading straight up to the front gate. But what most surprised Neil was to find a beautiful maiden suddenly standing beside him._

_"Good__morning, ma'am," said he, very politely.._

_"Good morning, Neil," said she, and Neil was more surprised than ever, for he could not imagine how she had learned his name. But he soon found that she knew a great deal more about him than his name; for she told him how, when he was quite a little baby, his father, a gallant knight, had been slain by the giant who lived in yonder castle, and how his mother, in order to save Neil, had been obliged to promise never to tell the secret._

* * *

"What was her name?"

"It doesn't matter, she's only in the story for this little bit."

"The goat wasn't in the story very long, but the goat had a name. She should have a name."

Trying not to roll his eyes, Dean thought for a moment, then said, "Bailey. Her name is Bailey."

"Do you think Bailey is pretty?"

"Not as pretty as your mom."

"Good answer, go on."

* * *

_"All that the giant has is yours," __Bailey __said, and then disappeared quite as suddenly as she came._

_"She must be a fairy," thought Neil._

_As he drew near to the castle, he saw the giant's wife standing at the door._

_"If you please, ma'am," said he, "would you kindly give me some breakfast? I have had nothing to eat since yesterday."_

_Now, the giant's wife, although very big and very ugly, had a kind heart, so she said:"Very well, little man, come in; but you must be quick about it, for if my husband, the giant, finds you here, he will eat you up, bones and all."_

_So in Neil went, and the giant's wife gave him a good breakfast, but before he __had half finished it there came a terrible knock at the front door, which seemed to shake even the thick walls of the castle-_

* * *

"Doesn't the giantess have a name?" Neil asked.

"The story doesn't say!"

"She should have a name, too. She gave story Neil breakfast, I'm sure while he was eating, the exchanged names. What's her name?"

"Eva, her name is Eva."

"You think Eva is an ugly giantess?"

"It's just a _name!" _

"Okay, don't get touchy, Dad, I'm just asking."

* * *

_"Dearie me, that is my husband!" said __Eva__, in a terrible fright; "we must hide you somehow," and she lifted Neil up and popped him into the empty kettle._

_No sooner had __Eva__ opened the door than her husband roared out:_

__**"Fee, fi, fo, fum,  
I smell the blood of an Englishman;  
Be he alive, or be he dead,  
I'll grind his bones to make my bread!"**__

* * *

"Why doesn't he just talk like regular people?"

"Because he's a giant. Giants talk differently!"

"Eva doesn't talk in rhymes. How come he does?"

Dean shook his head for a moment, giving himself time to think. "Because he always wanted to write greeting cards."

"Really?"

"Yeah."

Neil shrugged. "Okay. Go on."

* * *

_Nonsense!" said __ Eva,__ "you must be mistaken. It's the ox's hide you smell." _

_So he sat down, and ate up the greater part of the ox. When he had finished he said__,__"Wife, bring me my money-bags." So his wife brought him two full bags of gold, and the giant began to-_

* * *

"Dad, what was-"

"André! The Giant's name was André!"

"Okay, no need to get so excited."

* * *

_So André began to count his money. But he was so sleepy that his head soon began to nod, and then he began to snore, like the rumbling of thunder. Then Neil crept out, snatched up the two bags, and though André__'s__ dog-_

* * *

"Cujo, the dog's name was Cujo!"

"I didn't ask what the dog's name was."

"Well, just so you know, it was Cujo."

* * *

_-__barked loudly,__he made his way down the tomato __plant__ back to the cottage before the giant__, __André__ awoke._

_Neil and his__ Diva__ mother were now quite rich; but it occurred to him one day that he would like to see how matters were going on at __André __castle. So while his mother was away at market, he climbed up, and up, and up, and up, until he got to the top of the tomato __plant__ again._

_Eva__ was standing at the door, just as before, but she did not know Neil, who, of course, was more finely dressed than on his first visit. "If you please, ma'am," said he, "will you give me some breakfast?"_

* * *

"You'd recognize me, even if I was in a suit, wouldn't you?"

"Of course I would.'

"So, why doesn't Eva recognize Jack?"

Dean barely had to think this time, "because female giants are near sighted." When he saw Neil's mouth open, he hastily added, "They don't make contacts big enough for giantesses and Eva was too vain to wear glasses!" He was getting the hang of this.

"She'll never be able to get her driver's license then."

"She doesn't care, she lives in a castle in the sky."

"Good point."

* * *

_"Run away," said she, "or my husband__, __André__ the giant will eat you up, bones and all. The last boy who came here stole two bags of gold__, so __off with you!" But __Eva__ had a kind heart, and after a time she allowed Neil to come into the kitchen, where she set before him enough breakfast to last him a week. Scarcely had he begun to eat than there was a great rumbling like an earthquake, and__ Eva__ had only time to bundle Neil into the oven when in came __André__No sooner was he inside the__room than he roared:_

**_"Fee, fi, fo, fum.  
I smell the blood of an Englishman;  
Be he alive, or be he dead,  
I'll grind his bones to make my bread!"_**

_But his wife told him he was mistaken, and after breakfasting he called out: "Wife, bring the little brown hen!" __Eva__ went out and brought in a little brown hen, which she placed on the table._

_"Lay!" said André__and the hen at once laid a golden egg. "Lay!" said André a second time; and she laid another golden egg. "Lay!" said__André the giant a third time; and she laid a third golden egg._

* * *

"Neil, could you stop giggling?"

"Sorry Dad, but he keeps saying 'lay,' it's funny."

"How do you know it's funny?"

"Cory giggles every time someone says lay, so I asked him and he told me why it was funny."

"Actually, lay isn't the funny word, it's laid."

"Close enough."

"I need to talk to Cory, he's a bad influence on you."

"He'd love that. Not sure his mother would."

"His mother is a bitch."

"What did you say, Dad?"

"I'll bet your leg is starting to itch."

"Oh, thanks for reminding me."

"Can I go on?"

"Sure, I'm enjoying this. You tell good stories."

* * *

_That will do for to-day," said he, and stretched himself out to go to sleep. As soon as he began to snore, Neil crept out of the oven, went on tiptoe to the table, and, snatching up the little brown hen, made a dash for the door. Then the hen began to cackle, and __André __began to wake up; but before he was quite awake, Neil had escaped from the castle,__and, climbing as fast as he could down the tomato __plant__, got safe home to his mother's cottage._

_The little brown hen laid so many golden eggs that Neil and __the Diva__ had now more money than they could spend. But Neil was always thinking about the tomato __plant__; and one day he crept out of the window again, and climbed up, and up, and up, and up, until he reached the top._

_This time, you may be sure, he was careful not to be seen; so he crept round to the back of the castle, and when __Eva__ went out he slipped into the kitchen and hid himself in the oven. In came__André__ the giant, roaring louder than ever:_

**_"Fee, fi, fo, fum.  
I smell the blood of an Englishman;  
Be he alive, or be he dead.  
I'll grind his bones to make my bread!"_**

_But __Eva__ was quite sure that she had seen no little boys that morning; and after grumbling a great deal, __André__ sat down to breakfast. Even then he was not quite satisfied, for every now and again he would say_**_:_**

__**"Fee, fi, fo, fum  
I smell the blood of an Englishman;"**__

* * *

"I'm not surprised André never ended up working for Hallmark, he doesn't have any poems but that one."

"He might have written others, that's just the only one he's saying now."

"I doubt it, I'm betting André was the giant in the little bus."

"That's not very PC, son."

"Yeah, I know. Please don't tell Mom."

* * *

_A__nd once he got up and looked in the kettle. But, of course, Neil was in the oven all the time!_

* * *

"I wonder what would have happened if Eva had come in and turned on the oven? Like if she had to make cookies or something?"

"Then Neil would have been burned to a crisp, and this story would be over," Dean said, half tempted to have Eva the Giantess decide to go into a baking frenzy.

"That would be a terrible ending."

"Yes, but it would be a quick one."

* * *

_When __André __ had finished, he called out: "Wife, bring me the golden harp!" So she brought in the golden harp, and placed it on the table. "Sing!" said __André__ and the harp at once began to sing the most beautiful songs that ever were heard. It sang so sweetly that__André__ the giant soon fell fast asleep; and then Neil crept quietly out of the oven,-_

* * *

"Hey, wait a minute!"

"What?"

"If he was in the oven, it must have been a giant oven."

"Well, yeah, it was in a giant's castle, so it was a giant oven."

"How did he get in and out? The door to a giant oven would be really heavy."

"Neil was a very strong kid. He lifted weights."

"I dunno," Neil looked at Dean, his expression skeptical. "It seems pretty far fetched."

"We're talking about a giant tomato stalk that leads to a land of clouds, where a giant lives, and you're having trouble buying the oven door?"

"Well, yeah."

"Okay, how about this, there was a gap in the oven seal and Neil was creeping in and out using that."

"Still kind of stupid, but I'll buy it."

"Thank you. May I continue?"

"Yeah."

* * *

_-__and going on tiptoe to the table, seized hold of the golden harp. But the harp at once called out:"Master! master!" and __André__ woke up just in time to catch sight of Neil running out of the kitchen-door.__With a fearful roar, he seized his oak-tree club, and dashed after Neil, who held the harp tight, and ran faster than he had ever run before. __André__ t__he giant, brandishing his club, and taking terribly long strides, gained on Neil at every instant, and he would __have been caught if the giant had not slipped over a boulder. Before he could pick himself up, Neil began to climb down the tomato __plant__ and when __André__ arrived at the edge he was nearly half-way to the cottage. __André__ began to climb down too; but as soon as Neil saw him coming, he called out: "Mother, bring me an axe!" and the __Diva __hurried out with a chopper. Neil had no sooner reached the ground than he cut the __tomato plant__ right in two. Down came __André __the giant with a terrible crash, and that, you may be sure, was the end of him. And Neil and his mother__, the Diva,__ grew very rich, and lived happy ever after. The end._

* * *

"Why do fairy tales always end with 'and they lived happily ever after?' Nobody lives happily ever after. Even if the one problem ended, like now Neil and his mom have money, they'll still have other problems. It's impossible to live happily ever after."

Dean blinked, fighting off a sudden headache. "I don't know," he finally admitted. "That's just how most fairy tales end. I'm sure Neil and his mom had their troubles, but they were able to work it out."

Neil shook his head, but he didn't look too unhappy. "I liked that. Can you tell me another one?"

"Aren't you sleepy?"

Neil shrugged. "A little, but I could listen to another story.

Dean thought for a bit. Jack and the Beanstalk was the only fairy tale he knew by heart, but he knew the basic story of more. And with Neil here, was it really important to know exactly how it went? "How about I tell you the one about Goldilocks and the Three bears?"

"Meh," Neil shrugged.

"How about I tell you the story of GoldiRae and The Shield?" Dean suggested instead.

"Yeah, that sounds pretty good."

* * *

It was 5:30 in the morning when Cinnamon unlocked the door and crept into the house. Dan, one of the other paramedics had relieved her two hours early, knowing she was worried about leaving Neil alone for the first time since the accident. She had promised him she would make it up to him, when he needed someone to cover him. It wasn't that she didn't trust Dean, she did, but he'd been so worried and Neil was injured, she was a little anxious, but that was to be expected. Once she saw that everything had gone well tonight, she would be more relaxed. But for this first night, she was grateful to Dan.

The house was quiet, which she expected. Usually Dean and Neil didn't wake up until around 6 or 7. She crept down the hall quietly, and opened Neil's door to check on him.

Neil was lying in bed, but so was Dean. Dean's arm was around his son, and Neil was curled up, his head on Dean's chest, both of them sound asleep. As she entered the room, still on tiptoes, she noticed the comforter from the master bedroom and a pillow on the floor. Dean and Neil were on top of Neil's covers, and the room was a little cool, so she picked up the comforter and draped it over both of them, smiling at her boys.

She leaned over and turned out the light on Neil's nightstand and picked up the two mugs that were sitting there. Then, as quietly as possible, she crept from the room so as not to disturb them.

The End.

* * *

**Author's Notes: Before anyone accuses me of plagiarism, the story Dean told Neil was not written by me, it's Jack in the Beanstalk, modified (of course). If you don't know the story of Jack in the Beanstalk, I'm shocked. It's very, very, old. So old that it's now in the public domain, which is why I can print it here, and it's completely legal. **

**If you liked this, please let me know! I really admit to having enjoyed writing this story and I'd really love to continue this as a series, but not if no one is interested in reading them.**

**Thank you!**


	3. Blinded By The Lights

**Disclaimer Dean Ambrose is the property of the WWE and/or the actor / sports entertainer / superstar that portray him. This story is intended as tribute only and is not intended to infringe on any copyrights. **

**Original characters are the property of me, and the children of my own imagination. Any resemblance to any real persons, living or dead is purely coincidental. **

* * *

**Blinded by the Lights**

When he woke on that fateful Friday morning, Dean Ambrose had no idea that by the middle of the afternoon, he'd be at war. There was no sense of foreboding when he rose, showered and ate breakfast with his son and girlfriend. None even, when he saw said girlfriend, Cinnamon putting innocent looking, plastic storage boxes onto the front porch. Instead, he was just curious. "What's going on?"

"It's time to put up the Christmas lights," Cinnamon said casually, as if this was something everyone knew.

"You put up Christmas lights?" he asked.

She nodded. "Not a lot, just a few. I outline the door, and put some around the porch. It's not a fancy display, but it's nice and Neil likes it, we've-" Her cell phone rang, interrupting them. She looked at the caller then said, "Work," and answered it.

While Cinnamon talked to her employer, Dean started opening the storage boxes looking at the lights. His mother hadn't been much on Christmas, and Dean remembered their box of Christmas decorations was smaller and a total mess. Cinnamon's boxes of lights was the exact opposite. The first box he opened contained several reels that kept the lights from tangling up all neatly stacked and labeled things like, "Porch Left Top" and "Stairs, Right." Another box contained some plastic hooks with plastic bells on them and some neatly rolled up extension cords. Dean was starting to get a little bit excited about this. He'd never been in a place where people hung up Christmas lights outside for the world to see. It was one of those things he'd always imagined that "Normal" families did. He thought about how pretty the little ranch house would look when the front porch was decorated with lights and wondered if he could help.

When Cinnamon got off the phone, she was frowning. "Melissa has a family emergency and can't work. Dan is going to come in later, but he can't cover all of it. I have to go in and work, they need me."

Dean frowned. He was never one to tell someone they shouldn't work, he was a workaholic himself, but he also knew Cinnamon wanted to see the lights up as much as he did. "When do you have to go in?"

"I said I'd be there as soon as I could," she said. "Neil will be home soon, he's got a half day today. But we'll have to do these lights tomorrow."

"Doesn't WVW have an afternoon show and an evening show tomorrow?" he asked. WVW stood for West Virginia Wrestling, a small promotion that worked locally. Cinnamon was their resident paramedic and pretty much the den mother to all the wrestlers. The owner loved her because she was willing to work the shows as emergency medical help for nothing more than admission for her and Neil, and now Dean, too.

"Yeah," Cinnamon said, sighing. "I might not get to them until Sunday then."

"How about if I hang them up?" Dean suggested. "They all look well labeled and if I have any questions, I'll ask Neil when he's home."

He half expected her to look worried, but instead, she looked relieved, which told him this could not be that difficult then. "Really? That would be great!" She smiled, kissed him on the cheek and ran into the house to get ready.

When she came out to leave for work, backpack slung over her shoulder, Dean was organizing the rolls of lights, putting them in the areas they would be used. She smiled, obviously pleased at what he was doing. "I really appreciate this."

"It's nothing." He wrapped his arms around her, giving her a kiss that hinted of later fun for the both of them, when they could be alone. She returned it, confirming the promise too. "You have fun at work. Save lives and all that fun stuff."

She grinned. "I love doing my job, but every time I go to work, I hope it's a slow day, because that means people are healthy and not getting hurt." She readjusted her backpack. "There's a ladder in the shed, be careful, okay? I don't want to get a phone call that I have to come out her because you fell off the roof."

"I'll be fine," he assured her.

* * *

By the time Neil came home, Dean had the ladder out of the shed and was hanging the lights from the top of the porch. Neil walked up the walkway, a puzzled look on his face. "Hi, Dad, where's Mom?"

Dean finished clipping the last part of the string and turned. "Someone she works with had a family emergency so she's covering for her," he explained. "So, I said I'd do the Christmas lights for her. Do you think I got them right?"

Neil studied the lights, then went back down the stairs and down the walk way a bit so he could see the porch as a whole again. "Yeah, the top part looks great!" he called out, "Just have to do the bottom and the stairs."

Dean smiled, pleased he had gotten this right. He'd never hung lights, but he found in one of the storage bins, boxes of clips that made hanging the lights from the gutters easy. "Maybe you can help me with that?" he suggested.

"Sure," Neil said. "Just let me change into play clothes and drop off my book bag."

With Neil helping, the rest of the lights were done in less than an hour. Even though it was still daylight, Dean turned them on and the two of them went out into the yard to see the results. Dean was pleased. Icicle lights hung from the porch roof gutter, while blue lights came down the columns and multicolored lights decorated the hand rail and stairs. The silver bells were stuck in the ground and when you walked close, a sensor went off and they began playing (naturally) Silver Bells. The house took on a festive atmosphere and he grinned to Neil. "We do good work."

"Yeah," Neil agreed. "I don't see anything different from the way it looks when Mom and I do it.

"Hey, Neighbors!"

Dean turned to see a balding man who stood several inches shorter than him with a beer gut that made him almost look pregnant and sporting a bad comb over. "Hey," Dean responded.

"Hello Mr. Spencer," Neil said. Dean heard a lack of enthusiasm that bordered on surly in Neil's tone of voice and was a little surprised. Neil was well known in the neighborhood and most of the neighbors seemed to like both him and Cinnamon. After Neil had been rescued from the well, several neighbors had dropped by the house to see how Neil was doing and to wish him well. If this "Mr. Spencer" had been among them, Dean didn't remember him, but perhaps his wife, if he had one, had stopped by as a family representative.

"So, how's the leg doing?" Mr. Spencer asked Neil. After Neil assured him that his leg was doing fine, and Mr. Spencer expressed pleasure in hearing that, he turned his attention to Dean. "We haven't met yet," he said, holding out his hand. "Pete Spencer."

Dean shook his hand, noticing his grip was a little on the limp side. "Dean Ambrose."

"He's my Dad," Neil explained.

If Pete recognized him, he gave no indication. "I was lead to believe you were out of the picture!" he said, as if this was jolly news to be shared.

"I came back," Dean said, thinking this guy was a little on the rude side.

"Well, that's nice!" Pete enthused and then abruptly changed the subject. "I see you're hanging your lights!"

Dean nodded. "Yeah, we just finished." _Maybe this guy is just hear to admire our lights_, he thought.

Pete smiled. "Oh, okay. It's nice!"

"Thank you." _Maybe this guy isn't so bad after all._

"Yep, Cinnamon always puts on a very quaint and tasteful little display." Pete Spencer nodded and there was a look of smug satisfaction on his face.

Dean knew a backhanded compliment when he heard one and his head turned a little too quickly to look at Pete. "I think it's great," he said.

"Oh, it is," Pete said. "Good colors, good balance. It's great for a small time display."

A quick glance to Neil showed Dean his son was rolling his eyes. He looked back at Pete. "We like it," he said, knowing he sounded a little defensive.

"And you should!" Pete agreed. "Me, though, I go for the big time, the _real_ deal. Well, wait until it's dark out, and you'll see."

Dean scowled, feeling his lip curling but fighting the urge to ask this guy what the "real deal" was and why he felt the need to piss on their display. "Yeah, we'll do that," he said, having no intention of looking at this guy's lights, instead wishing to cram them down Pete's throat instead. "Well, I'd love to chat, but Neil needs his lunch."

Neil nodded. "Yeah, I'm _starving_," he said, laying it on a bit thick.

"Well, I won't keep you," Pete said, taking a last look a their Christmas display. "I just wanted to say hi and tell you I admire your display. Not everyone needs to have lots of lights, sometimes these tiny displays have their own impact too. Not everyone can be as dedicated, as me!"

Dean wanted to hit Pete Spencer and he had a feeling if he did, Neil would cheer him on.

* * *

It wasn't until lunch was made (tuna fish sandwiches and reheated home made chicken noodle soup) that Dean brought up Pete Spencer. "What's his deal?" he asked.

"Mom says I shouldn't say bad things about people."

"Your mom isn't here and I'm your father, be honest."

Neil hesitated. "He's-he's a _dick_."

"Your mom doesn't like you using that word, does she?" Dean tried not to laugh, He shouldn't encourage Neil to use words Cinnamon didn't like, but it was funny to hear Neil afraid to use a word like "dick." When he was Neil's age, he had a much more off color vocabulary than Neil did.

"Nope. She says she's raising me better than that." Neil rolled his eyes, as he took a spoonful of soup and blew on it.

"It'll be our secret then," Dean said. "So, what makes Mr. Spencer a dick?"

"He just is. He makes mean remarks about some of the neighbors. Mom doesn't like him." Neil scowled.

Since Cinnamon normally liked most people, this surprised Dean. "What type of mean remarks does he make about the neighbors."

Neil fidgeted, putting the spoonful of soup he had been blowing on back in the bowl and stirring it. "I don't like to talk about it."

Dean frowned. "Neil, what does he say about the neighbors? I really want to know."

Neil bit his lip, still stirring his soup and refusing to look at Dean. "Not everyone in the neighborhood is white, Dad."

"Yeah, I've noticed." Dean started to suspect what was bothering his son. The street, the whole little development of streets where Neil and Cinnamon lived was about as racially diverse as you could get. There were African Americans, Latinos, Asians, and pretty much any other group of people you could think of. Cinnamon, with her extremely pale skin and copper hair was the minority in this area. As far as Dean had gathered, the people in the development all got along with each other. He didn't like hearing there was someone living in the street who didn't feel the same way. Dean was just grateful his son had been raised well enough to know that there was something terribly wrong with Pete Spencer's attitudes. "Are you telling me that Mr. Spencer has said bad things to or about people in the neighborhood who happen not to be white?"

Neil nodded, his face flushing. "When the Karume family moved into the Patterson's old house a few years ago, he said to Mom that it was a shame that a nice white family moved out and one of 'those' families moved in." He stirred his soup faster. "Mrs. Karume is from Molokaʻi, that's one of the Hawaiian islands. Mr. Karume is from Kenya. They are really nice people! Their kid, he's older than me, and he mows Mr. Spencer's lawn, does whatever Mr. Spencer needs to have done around the house. Yet, Mr. Spencer says mean things about him behind his back, just because he isn't white. I-I don't like it. He told Mom once that he had to keep an eye on Ka'eo, because 'those people will steal anything that isn't nailed down.' Mom was furious and told him she didn't appreciate his attitude. She's not friendly with him anymore. She's..." He paused thinking of the word his mother had used to describe her relationship with him, "civil. She's civil to him, but she doesn't like him."

"Good," Dean said. A great deal of Neil's school and neighborhood friends happened to not be white and Dean really believed this neighborhood was above such petty attitudes. It was disappointing to find out that there was a snake in the grass.

"It just _bothers_ me that you can dislike someone for something that they had nothing to _do_ with!" Neil blurted out, speaking as if this was something he had thought about before but had never tried to articulate. "If someone is a jerk, they're a jerk. It's okay to not like jerks. But skin color? That's something that just _happens_, you don't get to pick! It's like hair color. I didn't _ask_ to have red hair, I was born this way. It wouldn't be very fair if people didn't like me because I have red hair, so why can Mr. Spencer think it's okay to think he's better than other people for something stupid like the color of his skin? It's just stupid and _wrong!"_

"Yeah, it is," Dean said. "And I'm glad you know that. I'm glad your mother's made sure you know that."

"He'd probably say mean things about Uncle Roman," Neil said, still looking upset.

"I'd love to see him say them to his face," Dean said. "Your Uncle Roman would take him down."

"I'd love to see that," Neil said, his frown lifting and a smile beginning to play on his lips.

"Okay, so Pete Spencer is a racist asshole," Dean said. "But what's his deal with the Christmas lights?"

Neil ate a spoonful of soup. "He thinks he's the Christmas Light Master or some such crap." He took another spoonful and blew on that one as well. "He's listed on this 'Festival of Holiday Lights' website, or maybe it's 'Holiday Light Festival,' whatever."

"And what is that?" Dean asked, removing the top of his sandwich and putting potato chips on top of the tuna fish.

"Hey! You like chips on tuna fish too?" Neil asked, watching his father with a delighted expression.

"Only way to properly eat tuna fish," Dean said as he put the top piece of bread back and took a bite. "Crunchy, fishy, and bready. But anyway, what's the Festival of Holiday lights?"

"It's a listing of all the houses that have big light displays," Neil explained and began doctoring his own sandwich with potato chips. "These people come out and they look at your display and if they like it and think it's big enough, they list your address on the web site. People can download a map or something and drive around and see the display. A few people in the neighborhood tried before to get on it, but they didn't have enough lights or something. But Mr. Spencer got on and now he thinks he's the King of Christmas Lights. And if anyone puts up any lights on this streets or any of the other streets in this area, he checks it out to make sure they aren't outshining him."

"Really?" Dean's eyes lit up. "So, he was making sure we weren't putting up extra lights this year? To compete with him?"

"I don't think he considered what Mom does to be anything to worry about," Neil said. "I just think he came down to make sure you knew that he was King and to make himself feel better than us for having more Christmas lights."

"Well, maybe we should fix that," Dean said, a gleam coming to his eyes and an almost scary grin spreading across his mouth.

"How?"

"Finish your lunch and we'll go get some more lights."

"You don't have a car," Neil pointed out.

"I'll borrow Mr. Wilson's truck." The Wilsons were the next door neighbors and Neil's surrogate grandparents. Mr. Wilson was retired, but he still had his truck from when he was in construction. Usually it sat in the driveway, only used if they needed to haul something large to or from the house. He had lent it to Dean a few times while he was staying here, because Dean always returned it with a full tank of gas, and a run through the car wash.

* * *

Less than two hours later, they were back from the Home Depot with several bags of lights, clips, some extra extension cords, some indoor/outdoor garland and, what Dean considered the pièce de résistance, two reindeer, a tree, a sleigh, and a Santa Clause, made of a white wire and sparkling lights. They were festive, but they reminded Dean more of skeletons than actual deer and Santa. And that was kind of cool. Like there had been some plague that had wiped out most of the population and the few people left were doing what they can to make things festive. Yeah, okay, that was a little creepy, but Dean liked the idea.

Dean started to work hanging the icicle lights, strands of lights strung together that hung down like icicles off the roof. Neil's walking cast limited his ability to help, but he did what he could, weaving garland around the lights on the porch and putting light nets on the lower bushes. When Dean finished with the roof, he hung strings of LED lights around each windows in the front.

The last thing they did was put up the reindeer, the sleigh and the tree. When they were done, Dean turned on the lights to test them, then the two of them went and stood on the street to look.

The front of the house was a festival of twinkling Christmas lights. Even though it was too light to get the full effect, you could still see that the house was going to look like a house made of lights when it got dark enough. And the deer, sleigh, and tree in the front were nice touches. Neil had done a wonderful job wrapping garland around light strands on the porch hand rails and the stairs. "What do you think?" Dean asked Neil.

Neil nodded. "It's a lot more lights than usual."

"Do you think we've given Mr. Spencer a run for his money?"

Neil hesitated. "Well, he has a bunch of lights." He looked up the street, then back at his father. "He spends a few days getting all of his up. It-it's just an _awful_ lot of lights."

Dean heard the words Neil said and more so heard the words Neil _didn't_ say. They had a lot of lights, but they were not at Pete Spencer's level. "Let's go up and take a look," he suggested. Sure, it would be hard to tell how many lights with the sun still up, but they could still get an idea of how many strands of lights there were.

* * *

The Spencer's house was a two story, colonial style house. When the neighborhood had been built, the developers offered three different house styles, the ranch, like Cinnamon's, a cape cod style and a colonial style. The colonial was the biggest and thus the most expensive of the houses. It also had the brick facade and a chimney, which meant it had a fireplace. This was probably the grand daddy luxury home of the neighborhood.

And it looked like every blessed inch was covered in lights. Lights not only lined the roof and the windows, but lights were spiraled around the drain pipes. Lights were running across the siding, along with light art of Santa and various other Christmas things, wire designs with tiny lights that would twinkle and sparkle once it got dark. And the lights spread past the house too. There were rows of light up candy canes and gingerbread men lighting up the walkways and the driveway. There was a life sized nativity scene off to the side, made of a hard plastic that Dean would later learn were called "blow molds." And it wasn't just Mary Joseph and Baby Jesus, there were three wise men, a couple of shepherds, two cows, six sheep and two camels, also life sized. On the other side of the lawn was another huge blow mold set, this of Santa and his reindeer. Another Santa was posed up on the chimney, as if getting ready to creep down. And the lights were everywhere. The Spencer's yard was the same size as the rest of the neighborhood, about a sixth of an acre, so by Dean's estimate, with the back yard and the house, the front yard was probably about a fourteenth of an acre, but every inch of it was crammed with lights and decorations. Most of the trees in the yard were almost a shiny green from all the strands of lights that were wrapped around them.

Dean knew their display, while nice, would never measure up to this. It would be like comparing a mini cupcake to a wedding cake.

Standing outside was Pete Spencer himself. High up in a tree was a boy who looked to be about fifteen or sixteen, stringing lights. "I want an even placement!" Pete was yelling up to him. "No clumping. Wrap the lights around every single branch, when you're done, I want it to look like a fairy tree of lights!"

"Yes, Mr. Spencer," the boy called down.

Dean was tempted to just slip away, but just as he and Neil were turning to do so, Pete Spencer noticed them and came walking over. "Come to see how the big boys do it?" he asked, his voice a little too hearty.

Considering Dean towered over this guy by a good five, maybe even six inches, he found the "Big boys" remark to be both insulting and stupid. Still, he didn't think it would be smart for him to point it out, so he just shrugged. "Yeah, we just thought we'd have a look."

"I've been working on this for weeks," Pete bragged. "Planning, hanging, doing everything. This year's show will be the best ever!" He patted Neil on the head, making Neil flinch. "I'll bet you can't wait to see it!"

"No sir, I sure can't," Neil said.

Dean knew just by Neil's tone of voice there was sarcasm dripping off every single word, but apparently, Dean had gotten pretty good at reading Neil, because Pete's expression didn't change. "Show?" Dean asked.

Pete nodded. "Got my lights synced up to music and on timers. Every hour on the hour from five at night until midnight, the lights blink in time with the music. It's wonderful. I've got a laptop all set up, got this special software. It was a pain to program, but it's wonderful software once you figure out how to get it to work. You wait, tonight's show will be spectacular! The best ever!"

While he prattled, the kid who was up in the tree came down and walked over. "Mr. Spencer, I have to get going." He grinned to Neil, nodding and showing they knew each other. Neil nodded and grinned right back.

"Oh. Well..." Pete looked at the tree. "I was hoping you'd get a little more done today. You shouldn't have taken that lunch break. You'll have to come back tomorrow."

"I can't," the kids said, shaking his head. Long, shiny black hair waved around his face. Most of it was wrapped in a ponytail but some had escaped, most likely due to being snarled up in tree branches. "Mom and Dad need me to help with their Christmas stuff."

"Oh, all right," Pete said, looking upset. "I guess I'll have to finish those last two trees myself." He frowned. "Well, tonight won't be that bad, we've got enough up, but this isn't very fair to me. You should have warned me when you started that you wouldn't be able to finish."

The kid was standing near Dean and muttered something. Dean couldn't be sure, but part of him would have sworn the kid had muttered, "Kiss my ass." But Pete didn't seem to hear it. Dean grinned to the kid, Neil seemed to like him, and that was enough for Dean.

The kid started down the street, going in the direction of their place. Dean waved to Pete, mumbling some form of good by, but Pete was more interested at staring morosely at the two trees whose only crime was not having a billion lights each on them.

"Hey!" Dean called after the kid. He looked quickly at Neil. "What's his name?"

"Ka'eo," Neil said.

"Hey, Ka'eo!" Dean called again, hoping he had the pronunciation correct. Well, if he butchered it, the kid still knew it was his name because he stopped and paused to let Dean and Neil catch up. When they did, Dean put out his hand. "Dean Ambrose."

Ka'eo grinned and shook his hand. "I know who you are," he said. "Most everyone on the street knows Neil's father and Cinnamon's uhm, _friend_ is the big time wrestler, Dean Ambrose."

"Really?" Dean didn't know why this surprised him so much.

"Well, yeah, why wouldn't I notice?" Ka'eo asked. "I noticed before that Neil looked like Dean Ambrose. Considering Cinnamon loves wrestling, and comes from the state where you got your start, it wasn't that hard to figure it out once we saw you coming and going."

"Are you a fan?" Dean asked.

Ka'eo nodded. "Yeah, and trust me, it took everything I had not to go running over and act all fanish when I saw you talking to Mr. Spencer."

"Why didn't you?" Dean was curious. Most people had no problem at all acting fanish around him, yet if Ka'eo was correct, most of the street knew exactly who he was, and they had never so much as asked for an autograph.

"'Cause you have your reasons for being here," Ka'eo said, shrugging. "We figure if you wanted the world to know about it, you or Neil here would be telling people. You haven't, so we figure you want to keep your being here on the down-low. Let me tell you though, Thanksgiving was rough, seeing who was over. Yeah, the neighbors have been talking about it, but we've all pretty much come to the conclusion that it's your business why you're here and why make trouble for you? My folks made it pretty clear if me or my friends pestered you, we'd be in serious trouble."

Dean didn't know who Ka'eo's parents were, but he liked them all ready. He smiled and nodded, then remembered the reason why he had stopped Ka'eo in the first place. "You helped Pete Spencer with his lights?"

A sour expression crossed the kid's face. "Yeah, I do. I've been doing it for years. The first couple years it was okay, now it's just getting ridiculous. He's getting more and more demanding, I'm working all day, several days, and he still only pays me twenty five bucks a day. When it started, for one day, a few hours, it was fine. But now I'm working from sun up to sun down on weekends for that same twenty five bucks a day. And now I'm wrapping entire huge trees in lights, climbing up on that roof, which is pretty steep, I'm up and down ladders all the time. It's like Mr. Spencer doesn't do anything, thing, he just orders me around."

"Why don't you quit?" Dean asked.

Ka'eo shrugged. "I'm fifteen. Next year I'll hopefully have a real part time job after school and I'll be able to say no thank you." He looked over at Neil, "Be careful, Neil, he'll probably ask you to help, if you're still living here."

"He's gonna pay me more than twenty five bucks a day," Neil said. "I won't do it for that little."

"Good man!" Ka'eo put up his hand, and Neil gave him a high five. "Hold out for five hundred. But why do I keep doing it? Because it is some Christmas money and if I don't, he'll gripe to my parents that I'm irresponsible. If you haven't figured it out, he's kind of a jerk."

"Yeah," Dean said. "He was snotty as hell when he checked out our display. Called it quaint, made it seem like we put up one of those light candles in the window and called it quits."

"That's what he probably hoped you'd do," Ka'eo said. "He claims to appreciate the displays the other houses do, but there is no way he wants anyone to have anything close to what he has."

They were standing outside of Cinnamon's house now, and Dean nodded his head towards it. "We increased our lights this year."

Ka'eo looked carefully before speaking, "It's a lot bigger than Cinnamon usually has, but..." his voice trailed off.

"-But it's not going to make him sweat, is it?"

Ka'eo shook his head. "No. It may make Mr. Spencer frown, but just a bit."

Dean decided it was time to lay his cards on the table. "I want to make him do more than frown."

"Oh?" Ka'eo looked at him, one brow raised.

"I want to make him cry like a bitch," Dean said, his voice firm.

Ka'eo's eyes widened and then he smiled. "And let me guess, you need help?"

Dean nodded. "I want it done tonight, too. I'll buy anything we need, but I want it done before Cinnamon gets home."

Ka'eo nodded. "I know a few other kids that think Mr. Spencer has been the Christmas Light King for too long. I can call them..." his voice trailed off.

"I'm willing to pay a hundred dollars each. Up to ten kids. For about four or five hours worth of work."

Every time Dean thought Ka'eo's eyes could not get wider, he was proven wrong. "Okay! Let me make some calls."

"Any of them have pick up trucks or large vehicles? Because we need something to haul stuff home in." Dean felt the corners of his mouth turning up into a grin.

"It's West Virginia," Ka'eo pointed out, "Of _course_ I have friend with pickup trucks."

"Good. Call your friends, have them meet us at the Home Depot." Dean rubbed his hands together briskly. "In fact, why don't you come with us? You can call while we're heading to the store."

"Sure, I just have to tell my folks." Ka'eo looked at the driveway, "Er, Mr. Ambrose, you don't have a car."

"Call me Dean," Dean suggested. Since the kid had referred to her as Cinnamon, rather than Ms. Nolan, Dean figured at some point, Cinnamon had told him it was all right for him to use her first name. If she felt this kid could call her by her first name, Dean felt it was okay for him to extend the same courtesy. "And I can borrow the Wilson's truck, they've been lending it to me."

"Why don't I see if my Dad will lend you his?" Ka'eo suggested. "I mean, you have a license, right?"

"Sure," Dean said. "That sounds great. Tell him I'll make sure the tank is full when I return it."

* * *

An hour later, they were pulling up to the Home Depot. As they walked up to the door, they saw a couple of kids around Ka'eo age standing around. When Ka'eo saw them, he waved.

While introductions were made, more kids showed up. Counting Ka'eo, Dean saw there were eight kids. "Is everyone meeting us here?"

Ka'eo shook his head. "More kids will meet us at the house. The kids who live in the neighborhood can just walk over to Cinnamon's. They'll be waiting when we get home.

"How many are there?"

"Four... maybe six."

Dean frowned. "I said I could pay ten kids."

"Who says you have to pay them?" Ka'eo asked, a lopsided grin on his face. "Most of the kids in the neighborhood are more than happy to help you for free. But, I figure the more kids the better. If you want, just give me the grand and we'll all split it evenly. Except for Chuck. Chuck I promised would get a hundred."

"Who's Chuck?" Dean asked.

"The kid who used to do Mr. Spencer's computer work for the light show," Ka'eo said. "Chuck and Mr. Spencer had a falling out over the software Chuck was using. Chuck used a free program he found on the net and loved it. Mr. Spencer bought this very fancy software and insisted Chuck use it. Chuck refused because he said it was crap. So, Mr. Spencer hired someone else to do the lights, some idiot programer or something. This guy is charging Mr. Spencer over a grand. Chuck used to do it for him for two hundred. I told him you would like at least one song and light show and he thinks he can do it."

"If he can get a musical light show going, I'll give him two hundred dollars," Dean said firmly. "And I'll still give you the grand to split with the other kids." He looked at the group, who's names he pretty much had already forgotten. "C'mon, let's go."

* * *

When they entered the store, an associate who had helped Dean and Neil earlier saw them and came over. "Hi, is everything okay?" he asked.

Dean looked at the name tag to remember his name. "Hey there, Alex. Remember when we came in here earlier and bought a crap-load of Christmas decorations?"

"Yes, of course," Alex said eagerly. He wasn't likely to forget that earlier sale.

"Well, now we need a shit-ton more," Dean said.

Alex's eyes lit up. Dean was pretty sure these associates didn't get commission, but he could imagine that there were certain perks given to stores where sales were high. "Let me help you with that," he said.

They grabbed flatbeds, since the regular carts weren't big enough. Alex pushed another one, so there were ten flatbeds. The headed right over to the outdoor decoration department and Dean set to work, grabbing almost every string of lights they had on display and stacking them on the carts.

After lights, he went to look at the wire and light outdoor displays, like the sleigh and the reindeer he had bought earlier. "I think I want a herd of zombie lighted reindeer," he said, looking at Alex. "I see six out here, do you have any in the back?"

"I'll go check," Alex said, heading off.

"Check and see if you have more of the wire trees too," Dean called after him. "I only see four out here."

Besides the wire decorations, he started piling other decorations onto the flatbeds. Mr. Spencer had blow molds that lit up, but Dean wasn't very keen on those. He liked the displays that were made out of different, smaller lights. Fortunately, the store had plenty of those, too.

As he was loading up a Santa Clause and some angels made of different colored lights, Alex returned. "We have six in the back," he told him. "And six trees, too.

"Great, I'll take them all."

"You're really serious about this, aren't you?" Alex said, studying Dean.

"Deadly serious," Dean said, "We've got a neighbor on our street that thinks he's the king of Christmas displays. He made fun of our display, called it a tasteful little display. Now, I don't know about you, Alex, but no one cares about tasteful little Christmas displays. When it comes to Christmas displays, big, bright and dare I say, tacky is best. As far as I'm concerned, he declared war and I will conquer him."

Alex nodded. "Let me show you something,"

"What?"

"We have to go out to the garden shop, it's too big to fit in the main store."

"Lead the way, Alex."

They walked out to the garden area. Alex raised his finger and Dean looked in the direction of where he was pointing. He found himself grinning wildly. This was great. This was perfect. "I'll take it," he said.

"It isn't cheap," Alex warned him.

"I don't care, I'll take it."

* * *

By the time they returned home, the sun was in that gluey twilight state and Dean knew it would be dark soon. He knew this would make working difficult, but they had a solution, the home depot offered rentals of all sorts of equipment, so Dean had rented some high powered spotlights.

There were also a lot of teenagers standing in the yard. He looked over at Ka'eo. "How many kids did you call?"

"Not this many," Ka'eo said, looking startled himself.

"These look like all the older kids in the neighborhood," Neil commented.

"Yeah," Ka'eo agreed.

It turned out that the kids Ka'eo had called had also called other kids in the neighborhood. And not one kid who was able had refused. They didn't care about money, they _did_ care about helping with the house that would blow Pete Spencer's out of the water.

"Okay," Dean said, once everyone was gathered. "We don't have much time. I don't know what time Cinnamon is due home, she was called out on an emergency, but I want this as done as possible by the time she gets home, so we've got to put some speed on it."

"Do you have a plan?" a girl asked.

Dean shook his head. "I just want lots of lights. I want to make Pete Spencer's house look weak."

"I think the wire deer and stuff, the white ones, should be in the center of the yard," Another girl suggested.

"Yeah!" agreed, still a third. "Make that the focal point."

Dean nodded. "I'm willing to let you guys do what you think is best. Just that area at the side of the house? Don't touch that. I have the perfect thing for that. C'mon, let's get to work."

Even though they were all flying by the seat of their pants, the kids started swarming the house. A few had brought ladders with them, and they set them up. Strands of lights were passed along and up. Some kids even brought buckets attached to ropes so they could lower the bucket when it came time for more lights.

Dean watched in amazement as the yard was slowly transformed. The girl who had asked about the plan took over the center of the lawn. She and her friends took strands of blue, twinkling lights and started arranging them on the yard as if to form a small lake of lights with a stream that ran off to the side of the house, looking as if there was a stream running from the back of the house to the front, into a pool. They arranged the deer around the pond and put the sleigh near it, making it look like perhaps the Santa of lights and wires had paused to let his reindeer take a drink at the pond. Among the blue twinkling lights of the stream, they put a select number of white light strands, which gave the pond and stream of lights a feeling of rushing steadily, the white lights acting as little white caps, until it emptied into the pond where it stilled. Dean was amazed. "You really know what you're doing!"

The girl who had asked about plans, he thought her name might be Jasmine, shrugged. "I like this kind of stuff, it's neat to take these things and try to make it more. Most people would just plop the deer and the sleigh down, make it look like Santa had landed and that's it. I like the idea that we're telling a story here. Santa is taking a break and letting the deer have a drink. It's not the usual thing you see."

"Well, it works," Dean said.

Meanwhile, Chuck, the one that Dean was going to give two hundred dollars to, was sitting on the porch steps with a lap top and bins of electronic things that Dean could not identify. Chuck had brought his younger brother with him and he was giving the younger brother orders, which he scurried to follow.

"Mr. Ambrose?" Chuck asked him. "How many songs do you want to run the lights with?"

Dean shrugged. "I have no idea. Not too many, because I don't want to piss off the neighbors. Well, no, that's not true, I want to piss off one neighbor, but I don't want to piss off all of them."

"Don't worry, I'm going to set this up on a low frequency transmitter," Chuck said. "It'll broadcast over FM. If people want to see the light show, they can turn on their radio. I'll also put up speakers if you do want the neighborhood to hear, but you can turn them on and off."

"You can do all this?" Dean asked, amazed.

Chuck shrugged. "Yeah. I was going to do all of this for Mr. Spencer. I did do it for him last year, but now he thinks he's too good for me. Bought some shitty software and hired some shitty guy to do him up. Screw him, I can just transfer it over here."

"Not bitter, are you, Chuck?" Dean said, grinning.

"Maybe just a little," Chuck admitted, grinning in return. "I don't want to do too many songs. It's all cool and stuff, but the more songs we do, the harder it gets. Besides, I think just having one 3-5 minute song that goes off every hour is the best. It gives pizazz to it, without overdoing it. The rest of the time, just have the lights going. But, we can switch up the song every hour."

"What music do you suggest?"

"I've got a rocking version of Carol of the Bells," Chuck suggested. "A lot of people think it's cliche because everyone uses it, but the reason why everyone uses it is because it's works so perfectly for light shows. Some folks even refuse to use Christmas music at all."

Dean frowned. "That's stupid," he said. "It's Christmas, what do people think we should play? Easter songs? Pop rock? Nah, you play Christmas carols."

"That's my feelings," Chuck said.

"Okay, so do the Carol of the Bells thing... and a couple more. You can pick them."

"Okay." Chuck bent back over his laptop indicating the conversation was over.

As the kids worked, weaving tinsel around light strands, hanging lights, and arranging the lighted displays, Dean dragged the final biggest box out of the back of Ka'eo's father's pickup truck and dragged it around to the left side of the house. There was a nice clear patch of land there that could still be seen from the street. Carefully, he opened the box. The light from the spotlights wasn't as strong over here, with the house blocking some of it, but he could see well enough.

As he set up what was in the box, he noticed people were starting to gather in front of the house. He saw the Wilson's first, but soon they were joined by other people too. Some of them called out to the kids helping, saying things to indicated these folks might be the parents to some of his helpers, but some were just coming and looking. When Dean had set up what he could, needing only to plug it in, he got up and walked over. There was quite a gathering, watching the house be transformed into a Kingdom of Christmas lights.

"Hi," he called out, walking over. "Everything all right?"

"Yes," A woman with warm brown skin and long black hair said. "I'm Ka'eo's mother, Lokalia." She pointed to a man who was over by the tree Ka'eo was in. "That is Kani, Ka'eo's father. We came down here to see what's going on." A general murmur of agreement went through the crowd of neighbors.

"War," Dean said, "That's what's going on, war."

"Against Pete Spencer?" Lokalia asked.

"Yup," Dean said, hoping he didn't sound like some idiot who had overreacted to something. "He, uh, made fun of the light display Cinnamon puts on."

"Let me guess," another neighbor said, "He called it quaint."

"And tasteful," Dean said. A low murmur went through the group. "I know it's Christmas and we're all supposed to, like, be into the spirit of love and forgiveness, but Pete Spencer is a jerk and I want to give him a taste of his own medicine. I promise we wont be too obnoxious. The music won't be loud and we'll only do one song a night. The kid who's doing the music says he can make it so people can hear it in their cars. I'll only do the music until eight or nine at night. And if it really bothers you-"

"It's okay," Lokalia interrupted him. "We all would like to see Pete Spencer put in his place. We don't care if you hire a heavy metal band to perform a concert every night, we just want to see him go down."

Dean looked at the activity around house, and then to his neighbors. "I think that won't be a problem."

* * *

By the time Cinnamon punched out, she had put in over eleven hours and she was exhausted. How come it seemed that "the most wonderful time of the year" was also the most risky? Still, no one had been so damaged that they wouldn't recover, so as far as she was concerned, it was a good day.

While normally she worked the third shift, because she had been in so early, someone else would be taking her shift, which was fine with her. She had to work at WVW tomorrow, and it would be nice to get a full night's sleep before she went there. Not to mention that it would be nice to go to bed with Dean, even if all they did was sleep.

As she drove home, she wondered if Dean had gotten all the Christmas lights up. She was surprised at how enthusiastic he seemed about the little light display she put up every year. She knew Dean's childhood had left a lot to be desired, (and that was putting it mildly) and he'd never had a house where lights were put up. But he seemed to take to the idea and she loved that he offered to get the lights up while she worked. Of course, there was also a chance that Neil came home and the two of them got sidetracked doing something else. Sometimes Cinnamon wondered if Neil had gotten a dad in Dean or an adult sized playmate, as the two of them could spend hours together playing video games, or shooting each other with Nerf guns.

_I guess I just need to be prepared for anything_, she thought to herself.

As she was heading down the main road that her street was off of, she could see the brilliant glow of Christmas lights and shook her head. Pete Spencer again, the show off. She didn't like Pete very much. His wife, Annie seemed like a good enough woman, but Pete made her skin crawl. She didn't like that he was racist and she didn't like that he had the habit of assuming that all white people agreed with him. She certainly didn't, and had told him so when he made some disparaging remarks about the Karume family and their son Ka'eo especially. She liked the family and Ka'eo had even baby sat for Neil a couple of times. For the sake of the neighborhood, she was civil to Pete, if she was outside when he drove by, he waved, but that was about all the contact they had. It was about all the contact she wanted.

But, it was Pete's season and she knew it. He'd have his lights blazing, his music blaring. And it made her sad because it should be awesome. The light display he did was extravagant and beautiful and the neighborhood should gather around and appreciate it, but Pete didn't look at it as a gift for the whole neighborhood to enjoy, he looked at it as a way to show his neighbors how superior he was to them.

_I__f I had the time and the money, I'd put on a better display,_ she thought to herself. _And I'd encourage the neighbors to enjoy it, and I'd show Pete Spencer a thing or two._ The thought barely came into her head when she wanted to chastise herself for sounding so Grinch-like, even if it was just in her thoughts. This was supposed to be the season for love, family, and togetherness and here she was thinking about how she wanted to take Pete Spencer down. Yeah, that was a good way to think this time of year.

As she turned onto her street, she blinked, realizing the lights looked a lot closer than Pete's place. She slowed the car way down and stared, realizing that no, she was seeing two yards lit up. Pete's house, further down the street and one closer to the end of the street where she lived. _Did someone do it?_ she thought, unable to keep an edge of delight from coming into her thoughts. _Did someone finally decide to try to be some real competition?_

As she drove closer, she realized the light spectacle wasn't a neighbor, it was coming from her house! She almost drove past it, it was so different. But at the last minute, she caught herself and pulled into the driveway, feeling almost as if she was in a dream.

The little ranch house no longer looked to be made of wood, concrete, vinyl siding, and glass. It looked instead as if it were made entirely of lights. Not just a lot of lights, but thousands of lights, no, make that hundreds of thousands of lights, around the windows, dripping from the gutters, wrapped so tightly around the drain pipes and the porch rails that you couldn't see anything _but_ lights, and they twinkled. Not blinked, but twinkled in a distinct pattern that almost gave the illusion of water flowing.

All the shingles on the roof were outlined with tiny white lights, something she had never seen before, but it gave the house a cottage feeling. Tiny red lights outlined the bricks on the chimney. The front door was a web of tiny, twinkling lights too.

And it wasn't just the house, the lights spilled out to the lawn where a stream of blue lights traveled from the back of the house to the front, leading into a pond where a herd of tiny wire and light reindeer were "drinking" from it, a sleigh parked nearby, complete with a wire Santa. Other light decorations were standing on the yard too. And if that wasn't enough, the whole yard seemed to be a net of tiny white lights, giving the illusion of lit up snow, twinkling over the lawn. Every single tree was decorated in lights, running up the trunk, draped around the branches, twinkling and sparkling in the night.

There wasn't just lights on her lawn though. It also looked like half, no maybe more than half of the neighborhood was in her yard too. She opened the door to the car and stepped out, almost tripping, she was so overwhelmed. Fortunately, Dean and Neil had hurried over. Dean caught her. "Welcome home, Cinnshine."

"Wha?" Cinnamon asked, knowing she must sound like an idiot, but unable to stop herself.

"Do you like it, Mom?" Neil asked, grinning. "We decorated the house and now we're having a party!"

"How?" Cinnamon stammered. She really had to get a grip on herself, but she just couldn't.

"I got the kids to help me," Dean said. "Well, it started with Ka'eo, but he was able to get a lot of kids to come help. Then, their parents and the other neighbors started coming over to see what was going on... one thing lead to another, and it kind of became a party."

Mrs. Wilson came over with a mug of hot chocolate. "Here you go," she said, placing the mug in Cinnamon's hands. "We have a table up on the porch with Christmas cookies and other goodies."

"Thank you," Cinnamon said, accepting the mug gratefully.

"So," Dean said. "What do you think?

"It's... it's amazing!" Cinnamon said. "Absolutely amazing!"

"Think it blows Spencer out of the water?"

"Oh yes," Cinnamon said, nodding.

Other neighbors started coming over and saying hello. Cinnamon responded, but if she was asked later, she never would have been able to tell you what she had said, she was too overwhelmed at the explosion of lights and colors.

"C'mon," Dean said, taking her hand, "I have to show you something!" He lead her to the side of the house, where a huge pile of cloth of some sort was laying on the ground.

"Did someone parachute into the yard?" Cinnamon asked, and realized she would not at all have been surprised if Dean had said, Yes, Santa Clause landed. He's up on the porch eating Christmas cookies.

"Nope," Dean said, shaking his head. "Watch." He walked over to the pile of nylon cloth. and flicked a switch of some kind. A whirring noise was heard and slowly, ever so slowly, the pile of cloth began to transform.

Other people might have grown impatient with the time it took for the decoration to inflate, but Cinnamon was actually grateful. It gave her the time to think, to absorb what was happening. Her yard and house was now transformed into a house worthy of that silly Festival of Holiday Lights, or the Holiday Light Festival, whatever it was called. And that Dean had done this, in less than half a day. Yes, he had plenty of help, but obviously, he had organized the whole thing, he had made it happen.

As if he could read her mind, he slipped his arm around her, kissed her head and whispered into her ear, "Never under estimate the power of a pissed off lunatic."

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"Pete Spencer said our display was quaint, and tasteful," Dean said. "And to quote Bugs Bunny, 'you know this means war.'"

Cinnamon laughed, then looked back at the inflating display, realizing it was growing taller every second and still had a ways to go. It was a gigantic snowman that towered over the house, complete with "Stick" arms, and a "Carrot" nose. "That has to be the biggest Christmas decoration I've ever seen!" she said, amazed.

"Yeah," Dean said, a happy grin spread across his face. "The clerk at Home Depot said they only got two of them in. One was on display. We bought this one. Pete Spencer doesn't have one of these, let me tell you!"

Cinnamon was about to comment, when one of the kids, Chuck, she was pretty sure his name was, came running over. "Are you ready?" He asked Dean.

"Sure!" He looked at Cinnamon. "You're just in time for the light show!"

"Light show?" Cinnamon stared at him, "Isn't this whole yard a light show?"

"Yeah, but Chuck has set it up to sync to music."

"Oh, this I have to see."

Everyone moved away from Cinnamon's lawn and over to the lawn of the house across the street. Someone had set up a portable radio. Chuck had tuned it into the right frequency. "Okay, is everyone ready?"

"Yes!"

Chuck held the portable lap top in one arm, and with one hand, pressed some buttons. Every light on the house went out and the yard was plunged in blackness.

At first Cinnamon thought something had gone wrong, but then the music started, Carol of the Bells, slowly, softly, and just as slowly, just as softly, the lights began twinkling, seeming to glide across the roof, and as the song grew louder, more and more lights started twinkling on and off in time to the song, until it almost looked like the lights themselves were dancing, and the dancing was making the music play. Cinnamon had seen such displays on You Tube before, and even seen them other years on Pete Spencer's yard, but there was something so overpoweringly different about this one. Maybe it was because it was her house, but it wasn't just that she was hearing the music, and seeing the lights, it was as if she was feeling it, as if it wasn't outside of her, but inside too. Dean was standing next to her, and she slipped her arm around him, not only because she wanted to be close, but she was afraid if she didn't have someone to hold on to, that she'd fall. His arm tightened around her and even though he didn't take his eyes off the lights, he kissed the top of her head and his other arm went around Neil who was standing on the other side.

She knew the other neighbors were there to, but for these magical four minutes, while the song played, the world was nothing but the three of them, the lights and the music. And she gasped, because she knew that this moment in time was as close to perfect as she would ever know.

The End.

* * *

**Author's Notes:**** Please forgive the liberties I took here. I know that a light and sound display of the magnitude that I described in this story would take a lot longer than one night to arrange. But, this is fiction, so I took some liberties.**

**Special Thanks To:**

**Nancy:**** I would assume Cinnamon did take a picture of Neil and Dean, And probably has it on her phone. **

**Just A Reader:**** Thank you. I've done a fair share of reading to kids and some kids will question everything. I don't know if Dean was quite ready for Story time with Neil, but I think by the end of it, he was getting the hang of it.**

**To everyone else who reviewed the first Chapter, Neil and the Giant Tomato Plant? Thank you every so much. I really thought I'd have more stories to go into this by now, and I'm sorry it took me so long to get a second one.**

**To everyone reading? Happy Holidays, no matter what you celebrate. And a safe and Happy New Year. May 2015 be the best year of your life. **


	4. The Morning After

**Disclaimer Dean Ambrose is the property of the WWE and/or the actor / sports entertainer / superstar that portrays him. This story is intended as tribute only and is not intended to infringe on any copyrights. **

**Original characters are the children of my own imagination, and therefore my property. Any resemblance to any real persons, living or dead is purely coincidental. **

**The Morning After**

It was 6:00 am. when Dean opened his eyes and sat up, yawning. Cinnamon was sprawled on her side of the bed, lying on her stomach, one arm dangling off the bed, her copper hair a tangled mess around her head. Her other arm was resting on her pillow beside her head and he could see the ring he'd given her last night safely on her left ring finger, the ring her father had given to her mother, the ring she had pawned to get him medical help, the ring he had finally gotten back after over ten years and used to propose to her.

_I'm getting married,_ he thought to himself. There was a time in his life, and not that long ago, where such thoughts would have made him slightly queasy, but that was before Cinnamon and he had found each other again. Now he just found the idea had a certainty and rightness to it. They weren't sure exactly when they'd get married, he was almost done with his leave from the WWE and when he went back, his schedule would be its normal, brutal self, but they'd find a way. Dean would have been willing to fly to Las Vegas and just do it, but he wasn't sure how Cinnamon would feel about that. She had said last night that she wasn't ready to even think about the wedding until Neil, their son knew and was comfortable with the idea.

Peeking out the window, Dean could see it was a gray morning. It was early enough that it might get sunny, but right now, everything just looked gray and cold. He debated if he should go running, but decided against it. He'd be going to the WVW event this afternoon with Cinnamon, but that wouldn't be until 3:00, and he was hoping to hit the local gym before for a few hours, he could afford to skip the run this morning.

He slipped into a pair of sweatpants and a sweatshirt trying extra hard to be quiet so as not to wake Cinnamon. She had to work that afternoon at WVW, plus she had to work that night, which wouldn't give her too much time to sleep until tomorrow morning, so he wanted her to get whatever sleep she could now.

When he left the room, he shut the door behind him, and headed to the kitchen to make coffee. When he got there, he found Neil getting a container orange juice out of the refrigerator. "Morning, Dad."

"Morning, Neil." Dean walked over to the coffee maker and started filling it. "Did you sleep well?"

Neil nodded as he got a glass out of cupboard and poured himself a glass of orange juice then returned the carton to the refrigerator. "Is mom still sleeping?"

"Yep," Dean said, nodding. "And I want to let her sleep in, if it's okay with you. We all got to bed late last night, but your Mom has to work this afternoon and tonight."

Neil nodded, sitting down at the table with his juice. "Cold cereal for breakfast, then?"

Dean shook his head. "Not unless you want to. I can make us some eggs if you want. Or, would you rather have oatmeal?" Neil loved oatmeal, something Dean found amusing, because he had hated oatmeal. And even stranger to Dean, Neil loved the true old fashioned, often gluey oatmeal the best. That was one taste preference he got from his mother, obviously.

"Eggs sounds okay," Neil said, sipping his juice.

"You don't trust my oatmeal making abilities?" Dean teased.

"Dad, I _know_ your oatmeal making abilities," Neil said seriously. "I'd rather have eggs."

Dean tried not to laugh. He had tried to make oatmeal "like Mom makes" for Neil twice. Both times the results were less than edible, at least that's what Neil claimed. Dean couldn't tell you if it was good or not, since he refused to eat the stuff. "All right, I get the point. Scrambled?"

Neil nodded. "Can we put stuff in them like cheese and veggies and some meat, maybe?"

Dean nodded. "If you can help me with that."

A few minutes later, the two of them were working on breakfast. Neil was cracking eggs into a bowl and grating cheese into them, while Dean was cutting up onions and tomatoes. "There's a chicken breast in the refrigerator from dinner the other night," Dean said, "Should we slice that up and add it?"

"Is it fried chicken?" Neil asked, grinning. "If it is, we'd better leave it for Mom."

Dean grinned too, appreciating the reference to one of Cinnamon's food weaknesses, fried chicken, particularly Kentucky Fried Chicken. "No, it's from the other night when your mom made baked chicken."

"Then yeah, why not?"

Dean took out the chicken breast and put it on the counter.

When everything was mixed together, Dean got out the cast iron skillet and put it on the stove with a lump of butter. As it heated up, he took out a loaf of bread and gave it to Neil. "Can you be the toast maker?"

"I think I can handle that."

It wasn't long before the two of them were sitting down to eggs and toast, with coffee for Dean and more orange juice and a cup of hot chocolate, made with hot milk instead of water. "This looks good, Dad," Neil said, nodding his approval.

"Well, you helped," Dean said. He took a sip of his coffee and closed his eyes. Cinnamon did love good coffee, and Dean found he was really starting to appreciate the local coffee shop house blend that she bought for use at home. Compared to brands like Maxwell house or Folgers, it was expensive, but it was one of the things Cinnamon just didn't compromise on and Dean started feeling he wouldn't anymore, either. "Neil," he said, after enjoying that first, perfect sip. "Can we talk?"

"Aren't we already?" Neil asked, sipping his hot chocolate.

"I mean about something serious," Dean said, resisting the urge to ruffle his hair. Sometimes Neil didn't mind having his hair ruffled, but sometimes he felt he was too old for that kind of thing. Dean didn't want to make Neil feel that Dean was seeing him as a little kid.

"Okay," Neil said, putting his cup down and picking up his fork. "I'm not in trouble, am I?"

Dean shook his head. "Not at all. I just want to talk to you about...well, you, me, your mother, things like that."

"Is Mom okay?"

"Your mom is fine," Dean assured him.

"Everything is okay with you and me, right?" Neil asked.

"I think so," Dean said, taking a bite of the eggs. "Do _you_ feel we're doing okay?

Neil nodded. "Yeah. I'm going to miss you when you go back to work."

Dean felt a little stab inside him, but brushed it away. "That's not for awhile yet." That wasn't quite true, the middle of January was creeping up with alarming speed, but Dean also remembered how much longer a week, then a month seemed when you were a child. "Uhm... what if I told you I wanted to live here?" he asked, deciding to test the waters.

Neil looked at him, forkful of eggs half way to his mouth and paused. "You do live here," he pointed out.

"Well, technically, I'm staying here," he said. "That's not quite the same."

"No." Neil shook his head. "You live here."

"Why do you say that?"

"Because you fart," Neil said.

The tone of Neil's voice so matter-of-fact that Dean wanted to laugh. "Your mother prefers you call it 'breaking wind,'" he reminded him.

"Mom might break wind, at least most of the time. But Dad, seriously? You fart." Neil took another bite of the eggs.

"Everyone farts," Dean reminded him. "I don't see how this means I'm living here and not staying here."

"Guests don't fart, or if they do, they get all embarrassed," Neil said. "Unless it's outside when we're having a cookout and there are a lot of other guys. But you don't care. If we're watching TV, you don't rush to the bathroom, you just fart."

"I do not!" Dean said, feeling a little annoyed that his son was implying he was a chronic, smelly, wind bag.

"You do too," Neil said. "Especially if Mom isn't there."

He had a point there, Dean had to give him that. When it was the two of them, they didn't stand much on Cinnamon's rules of politeness and not only farted freely, but laughed about it, joked about it, and pointed fingers at each other, pretending to shoot each other while farting. Cinnamon had caught them playing this game once, after having served home made five alarm chili for dinner and had just shaken her head and decided she had things to do in the bedroom. Later, when she asked Dean about it, he had shrugged. "It's a guy thing."

"Yeah, we women don't run around farting and encouraging each other to smell it, because it's nasty," she said. "So, what makes you guys think it's all fun and games?"

"To be honest? I think it hearkens from the days where men were hunters and women were gatherers," he said. "The men used to sniff animal poop to see how old it was, how far away the herd might be, probably even to check and see what the herd was eating. And they probably encouraged all the other male members of the tribe to sniff too. So, it became a guy thing. 'Smell this, Caveman Ogg, whew, that's ripe, isn't it?' Meanwhile, the women were gathering plants and pleasant smells indicated it might be edible or useful, so they would pass flowers around instead. 'Hey Cave woman Sheena, does this smell nice?' 'Why, yes it does, Cave woman Lilla, let's bring some home so the cave will smell like flowers instead of our filthy men who fart in it all the time.' It's been a battle ever since. Women buy potpourri and scented candles, while men eat spicy foods and fart."

Cinnamon had laughed, but it had been a guilty laugh and she still didn't understand why her normally polite son had no problem playing games with his father that seemed to involve seeing who would would have to run for the Febreze first. It wasn't that Cinnamon was unusually uptight, she hung out with wrestlers, she certainly wasn't a delicate flower who wilted at any form of body humor, but she at least tried to raise Neil to know there was a time and a place for everything and if you were unsure, be polite. Sometimes Dean wondered if Cinnamon felt he was following behind her, wreaking havoc in his wake, attempting to undo every attempt Cinnamon made to raise their son to be a civilized human being.

"Okay, yeah, I admit when it's just you and me, I fart. But you do too," he said, defending himself.

"Yeah," Neil said, "But I know I live here. You're the one asking if I mind and I'm saying you already live here. If you can fart in the living room without even looking slightly embarrassed, then this is home. I mean, even Cory looks embarrassed when he farts in the house. Even if it's just he and I in the bedroom."

Dean nodded. "Okay, that makes sense." He ate another forkful of eggs, pleased at how good they tasted. If he could learn to cook oatmeal to Neil's satisfaction, he'd be able to claim he was an accomplished breakfast cook, at least for his family. "But, it isn't official yet. Your Mom and I want to make it official." 

Neil nodded. "You might as well, since you do live here."

"What about when I go back to work?" Dean asked.

"Then you'll _be_ here less," Neil said, "But you'll still live here. This will be your home." He started for another bite of eggs, then paused and looked worried. "You will come here when you don't have to work, right? Like if you get hurt, which I don't want you to, but if you do, you'll come here, right? Not go somewhere else?"

"Yeah," Dean said, amazed at how touched he was by the worry in Neil's voice. He didn't want his son to worry, but it was nice knowing that Neil loved him enough to want him to come and be with him and his mother whenever he could. "I mean, if I do get hurt I might end up in the hospital for awhile, but if I have to recover, I'll come here. And that little bit of time I get off, those couple of days every month? I'll come here then, too."

"I wish you didn't have to be away so much," Neil said. "I wish you only had to do Raw and Smackdown and Main Event and then you could home. I wish you didn't have to do house shows and interviews and all that stuff all the time."

"I know," Dean said, wishing the same thing himself. It wasn't that he really minded doing house shows and promotional work, but now that he had a family, he wished the job wasn't quite so demanding. "So," he said, changing the subject. "We've concluded that I live here because I fart."

"Yup."

Dean took a deep breath deciding to take the plunge. "How would you feel if your Mom and I got married?"

A triangle of toast that was half way to Neil's mouth, suddenly stopped and hung from his hand. "What?"

"How would you feel if your Mom and I got married?" Dean repeated, a little worried. _Maybe I should have waited for Cinnamon to be here, too,_ he thought.

"Are you going to ask her," Neil said, putting down the piece of toast, "Or have you asked her?"

Dean decided that this was the moment for honesty, even though he wasn't sure how Neil was going to take this. "I have asked her," he said. "She said yes."

Neil's brow furrowed, which was a sign that he was thinking, unhappy, or both. "Did you buy her a ring?" he asked.

"Yeah," Dean said. "Actually, I went and got a ring that was her mothers, that she sold many years ago." While he wanted to be honest, he hoped Neil wouldn't get side tracked about the ring. He knew that there would come a day when Neil was told the complete story of the ring, but this didn't seem like the time.

"That's good," Neil said. "Mom appreciates stuff like that."

Dean almost smiled at Neil's wisdom. "Yeah, your mom has a sentimental streak in her."

"Also, she's not a big jewelry person," Neil pointed out. "So, getting her to wear a ring she used to wear will probably be easier than getting her a new ring she's not used to."

Now Dean had to try not to laugh, or at least chuckle, which he managed to do. "Well, she was pretty happy to get this ring back."

Neil nodded. "And was she happy you asked her to marry you."

"I think so, she did accept," Dean said, then added, "And I don't think she did it just because she felt sorry for me." He didn't know why he said that last part, except that there was something about Neil that told him he needed to say something that made sense and was off the wall at the same time.

Neil giggled, telling Dean the joke had hit the target. Of course Neil knew his mother wasn't going to marry someone out of pity. But after a few giggles, Neil's face grew solemn. "When are you going to get married?"

"We're not sure yet," Dean admitted. "Your mom wants to make sure you're cool with all of this before we make any wedding plans and I agree with her. I have an idea of what I'd like to do, but I don't know if I should share it with you, just in case it can't happen that way." 

"I think you should share it with me," Neil said, and he looked so mature that for a moment, Dean almost felt like he was talking with a short adult instead of a boy on the verge of ten years old. "Until you came along, I was the man of the family."

"Yes, you were," Dean said, nodding. "So, okay, you just have to promise that if you think it's a great idea, you won't get upset if it doesn't happen. Weddings are very important to women."

"Isn't the wedding important to you, too?" Neil asked.

Dean shrugged. "I'm not looking forward to _getting_ married, I'm looking forward to _being_ married."

"That makes sense," Neil took a bite of his toast and chewed thoughtfully. "Okay, what's the idea?

"Well, the WWE isn't going to give me any time off, not after this leave of absences. But, your mother takes summers off for you, right?"

Neil nodded, still looking thoughtful.

"Well, I was thinking that I could probably get a couple days off, or at least a day. Your Mom and I could get married and then you and her can come on the road with me for the summer. It won't be a dream honeymoon, because I'll have to work, but at least the three of us will get some time together." Dean smiled. "What do you think of that?"

"Are you sure you want me on your honeymoon?" Neil asked, studying him.

"Yeah, I do," Dean said. "I am going to miss you so much when I'm back on the road, I'm not going to pass up close to three months with you. And you'll get to go to most, if not all, of the wrestling events. Does that sound fun?"

Neil nodded. "It sounds like a good idea, if Mom agrees." He put the crust of the triangle of toast back on his plate. "But, Dad, we've got to get a few things straight, okay?"

Dean didn't know if he should laugh or be worried at Neil's words. On the one hand, they seemed ridiculously serious, but on the other hand, Neil was not a baby, and if Neil had concerns, Dean needed to listen. "Okay," he said. "What do we need to get straight?"

"Will I be your kid?"

"You are my kid," Dean said, confused.

Neil shook his head. "Mom'll take your last name, right? So she'll be Cinnamon Ambrose. Will I be Neil Ambrose? Or Neil Nolan?"

Dean said nothing for a moment, realizing this had not occurred to him. He had just assumed that the kid was part of the deal and if Cinnamon took his last name, it would automatically go to Neil. Now he wasn't sure. "Neil, I would love it if you took my last name," he said. "I don't know what we have to do legally to make this so, but anything that has to be done, will be done. Is that okay?"

Neil nodded. "And you can't hyphenate it either," he said. "'Cause that's stupid. I'm not going to be Neil Nolan-Ambrose or Neil Abrose-Nolan. Or even worse, I won't be called some cute-but-dumb name mash up, like Neil Nolbrose or Neil Amban."

"Of course not," Dean said, and he didn't have to pretend he was horrified. None of those suggestions sounded good to him, either.

"Good, because if we're going to do this, I want to do it right." He looked at Dean, his expression serious. "I hope Mom takes your name. I think she will."

"I think so too," Dean said. "So, is that it?"

Neil shook his head. "Are you going to treat my Mom right?"

Dean reached for his cup of coffee and took a sip. "I'm going to try. I've never been married before, so I hope I can do this right."

"Mom hasn't been married before either," Neil said. "So, I guess the two of you will have to learn how to be married together. Just like you and I have learned how to be father and son."

"True, that," Dean agreed.

"But, Mom is pretty special. I think you know that, but I want to make sure." Neil put his fork on his plate, even though he still had eggs and toast left. It was clear what was coming next was probably the most serious matter of all to him. "She saves lives when she works and she works at WVW. She volunteers at my school as much as she can, too and she finds the time to bake cookies because she knows I like them better than the store bought ones."

"I know," Dean said. "I love your mother's cookies."

"It's not just the cookies," Neil said, the furrow in his brow deepening as he tried to come up with the words he needed. "The cookies are one of the things that make her great. Just one. She does a lot of other great stuff too. I know she's my mother and I love her, but from where I sit, you're lucky she loves you."

"I agree," Dean said, doing his best not to smile. It was clear this was very important to Neil.

"I know you're a big time wrestler and girls are probably knocking down your door to be with you," Neil continued, "But you still owe it to my mom to be 100% sure you love her and always _will_ love her, even if you have to be on the road and can't be with her all the time. You can't find other ladies just 'cause you're lonely and Mom isn't there."

Dean's eyes widened, but he just nodded, realizing his son was telling him, in a round about way, that Dean wasn't allowed to cheat. He knew Neil knew the basics of sex, but he was still at the stage in the game where he thought sex was something only done out of necessity to have children. His best friend Cory, seemed a little more informed in these things and Neil had told Dean that Cory was sure Dean and Cinnamon were having sex. Dean hadn't denied this, but he hadn't gone to great lengths to convince Neil of the truth of the matter and honestly, Neil hadn't seemed to care that much. But now, Dean wondered if Neil was starting to suspect his folks not only _had_ sex, but _liked_ it too. "I do have friends who are female," he admitted, knowing that there would be times when he might be seen by the public in their company. "Just like your mother is friends with so many of the wrestlers from the WVW. But, the only woman that I will ever... uhm...do man/woman things with, is your mother."

Neil nodded. "Good. That's why Cory's dad and mom aren't married anymore. Because Cory's dad liked to be with other women more than he liked being with Cory's mom. I don't want that to happen with my mom."

Again, Dean nodded. He had dealt with Cory a few times, Cory's mom even less, and they weren't his favorite people in the world. However, he realized he had a newly found sympathy for what they had gone through. Obviously, it had affected both of them pretty hard if Neil knew about it. "Your mom and I have talked about this all ready," he said. "And I told her that the only woman I want to be with, in a man/woman way is her. I meant that."

"Good," Neil nodded and picked up his fork, then put it down again. "It won't be easy."

"What won't?"

"You will be on the road a lot. I have to go to school and stuff. Mom has to work, so we can't always be with you. So, the both of you are going to have to try extra hard. I'll talk to Mom about it, too, but since you're here now, what will _you_ do to make sure the two of you are happy even though you're apart?" His head tipped to one side as Neil studied his Dad.

_Call her every night and ask, 'what are you wearing?'_ Dean thought, but wisely did not say. "Well, I know how to Skype now. I have a cell phone. I plan on keeping in touch with you, I'll keep in touch with your Mom too." Now Dean did reach out and ruffle Neil's hair, maybe to reassure himself that Neil was still a kid. "I know it won't be easy, but your mom and I love each other and we love you, so we'll find a way to make it work."

Neil nodded. "Good, 'cause if you don't, I won't be very happy. And I'll feel very torn, because I love you, but-" he paused and thought carefully before answering, "I've had Mom all my life."

"I understand that," Dean said, and he did understand. Cinnamon had been the constant in his life, the mother who did everything she could to be there for her son. "Look, Neil, it won't be perfect. There's no such thing as a perfect relationship. And you're right, we have some strikes against each other because I do have such a demanding job. But we both want this to work and so we'll work hard."

"Okay," Neil said. "I have one last question, then."

_This'll be the big one,_ Dean thought, even though he had no clue what it is Neil would ask. "Go ahead and ask me."

Neil drew in a deep breath. "What if you had to pick?"

"Pick?"

"Between us and wrestling," Neil explained. "I'm not saying you will, Mom wouldn't make you make that choice, but let's say God came down right now and said, 'if you marry Cinnamon, you can no longer wrestle.' What would you do? Who would you pick?"

"You and your mother," Dean said without hesitation, because he was telling the truth. He loved wrestling, he always had, even at the time when he didn't love it on the surface, he had loved it deep down. Wrestling had always been there for him. And if he was forced to give it up, he wouldn't be happy. But he also knew that some day wrestling would leave him, as the most seductive mistress always did in the end. It was not a sport for old men. He hoped he'd be able to work in the business for a long time, hoped he'd be able to train when he was too old to compete every night. He hoped he'd find some other way to stay in the business when his body gave out and said "no more." Cinnamon and Neil? They would always be there for him. Yeah, you could say, "That's not true, marriage ends in divorce a lot," but Dean knew in his gut that he and Cinnamon would do what they could to keep their marriage alive and healthy. If he hadn't believed that, he never would have proposed to her. If Cinnamon didn't believe he would do the same, she never would have accepted.

Neil nodded with all the dignity of a wise old village elder. "You can marry my mom, then," he said. "I approve."

Dean's first reaction was to ruffle his hair and half sarcastically say, "Well, I'm relieved to hear that," but he stopped himself. This wasn't a joke. Neil was serious. Dean had been tested by his son, and if Dean had been found lacking, Neil would have done everything he could to stop the two of them from getting married. Not because he was a bratty kid who wanted his own way, but because he was smart enough to know that while love was better than friendship, friendship was better than broken hearts. So, Dean nodded back. "Thank you," he said, hoping he sounded just as dignified as his son, hoping he sounded like the young warrior who had asked the wise village elder for advice. "That means a lot to me."

"And if you do screw up?" Neil continued, the beginnings of a grin spreading on his young face. "I recommend KFC. Mom will forgive almost _anything_ if you bring her KFC."

On this, Dean laughed and Neil joined in. And even though it wasn't _that_ funny, giggles turned into that laughter that fed on itself, so every time one of them stopped, they would look at the other and start laughing again. Twenty minutes later, that's how Cinnamon found the two of them, sitting at the breakfast table, tears streaming down their face, the two of them were laughing so hard. And even though she had no idea what was so funny, and nor did she care, she smiled. Because when the day started by hearing the two people you loved most in the world, laughing, you just _knew_ it was going to be a great day.

The End.

**Special Thanks To: **

**Just A Reader:** I'm glad you liked "Blinded by the Lights." I just figured Dean wouldn't take Pete Spencer's attitudes lying down. He's a jerk and Dean was going to show him a thing or two. Because in the world of Christmas lights, you do NOT describe someone's display as "small" and "tasteful."

**Pipe Bomb Dreams:** There is no rule that says I'm not allowed to have two stories on the front page, especially when I only have two stories if you filter out other results. (In your case, you filtered out every story that wasn't complete. Hardly fair) There are people on this site who make sure their stories always stay on the front page, by writing three paragraphs and calling it a chapter, every time their story falls off the front page, so why don't you go and take them to task about it? And Jack and the Beanstalk is in the public domain and the whole point of the story was that Dean was changing it to indulge Neil.

I don't like to sound like a bitchy writer, but why do you read my stuff if it upsets you so? I mean, I don't mind, tear my stuff to the ground, I've always said I can take criticism, and I can. But I've also said what I post I will defend, and I have to say it looks like you go out of your way to be upset with my writing. I don't know who else you've reviewed on this site, but I hope you aren't as nasty to them as you have been to me. You want to point out mistakes? Fine, if I agree they are mistakes, I'll fix them, but you talk about stuff that just isn't true, (like Cinnamon having sex with her dog, WTF?) or stuff that is at worst a mere minor annoyance (if you filter stories to just show completed ones, I have two stories on the front page so I should delete one? Again, WTF?) What is your point with this? I mean, we find your reviews hysterically weird and thus funny, but I would love to know what the point of this is.

**Author's Notes:** Hey there, remember me? Yes, I know, it's been awhile since I posted anything, but I am in the first third of a pretty big project. I'll leave it at that, because the more I talk about it, the more likely I am to not write it, but that's what I've been doing.

However, I did want to write a story showing Dean talking to Neil about this, and here it is. I hope you like it, and I hope you like it enough to take the time to review it, because it means a lot to me.

Reviewing is important enough to me that I've decided that in my author's notes I'm going to start addressing the many reason why people don't review (because lurkers have a million excuses, that they'll go into loving detail to explain if they are asked why they look at Fanfiction as a free buffet where they take willingly but never want to give) I know I can't force you to read this and I'm sure most lurkers won't, but I get a little tired of the attitudes that begging for reviews is wrong. If these little "counter arguments" can convince one person who was lurking to step forward and review (or, if on AO3, at least press the damned Kudos button) then I've done good. If I can convince that same person to review someone elses work that they've been reading and enjoying as well, then I'll consider this a major success.

Okay the argument for this time is:

**You shouldn't write for feedback****; if you're really a writer, you don't need feedback.** Interesting, argument, because it implies that a writer who asks for feedback is inferior to a writer who doesn't, and one long look about this site will tell you that is just not true. I have found writers that write wonderful stories and will beg for feedback and I've found writers who wrote crap but never asked for a review. Also, if you never hear anything about your writing, how will you ever improve? If I knit sweaters and shove them in a drawer, they might be the best sweaters in the world or they might be crap, but I'll never know, because no one can tell me. Chances are, they're just okay sweaters, but that's all they ever will be, unless I bring them out for people to see.

I _do _write for me. _All_ writers do. Even a writer who only writes request stories, is writing for themselves first and foremost. _Posting_ is another matter. I _write_ for me, I _post_ for feedback. If feedback didn't matter so much to me, I would keep these stories on my hard drive. I only share them, because I hope that others will read them and then share with me that they liked them or if they didn't like them, tell me why.

It would be different if posting was an automatic thing we writers had no control over, but it's not. I don't _have_ to post anything. I can write anything I want and not share it with a soul (and I have a hard drive full of crap to testify to this too) I post for feedback. Not just to hear praise, but to hear what I can do to improve. I can't say I will always agree with anyone being critical, but I _will_ listen and I _will_ remember. And maybe I won't feel I should fix the story you're writing me about, but it will be in my mind for the next story I write.

So, if this has been your argument for not leaving a review? Not just on my stuff, but on other people's fanfiction too? Reconsider. Your feedback is important. We writers_ do _care and that's a good thing, caring means we want to work at our craft. Caring what others think means we hope to improve.

Okay, until next time, take care.

Willow


	5. Chasing The Darkness Part I of II

**Disclaimer Dean Ambrose is the property of the WWE and/or the actor / sports entertainer / superstar that portray him. This story is intended as tribute only and is not intended to infringe on any copyrights. **

**Original characters are the property of me, and the children of my own imagination. Any resemblance to any real persons, living or dead is purely coincidental. **

**This story is dedicated to Lauraxxx, who really, _really_, wanted to read a story about Dean and Neil in the ring. I don't know if this is the story you were hoping for, but I hope you like it. **

* * *

_**Chasing The Darkness  
**Part I_

"Uh oh," Cinnamon said, looking out the kitchen widow, into the back yard. "We've got trouble."

Dean looked up from the coffee he'd been stirring and frowned. He had gotten home very early morning, having flown here right after the taping for Main Event and Smackdown and he didn't have to report back until Friday morning. Two glorious nights to spend with his fiancee and hopefully some time to spend with Neil too, even though the kid was in school for most of the day. It had been close to three months since he had _any_ time off, when he had gone back to the WWE in January, after his extended break, the Powers That Be seemed to want to punish him for those months by keeping him busy every second they could. He had done his best to keep in touch with Cinnamon and Neil via Skype, cellphone, and even land lines a few times, but even that had gotten spotty as his schedule seemed to involve being in the ring, or doing WWE promo work every second he wasn't sleeping. And even sleep had been tough to get. He was so looking forward to these two days, he did not want to hear there was trouble. "What's up?"

"Neil," Cinnamon answered, as if this explained everything. "He's in his wrestling ring."

"So?" Dean asked, taking a sip of his coffee and then adding a splash more of cream. "He spends a lot of time in that ring, it's his favorite possession." Dean didn't really blame him for that, the ring was extremely well made for a back yard ring, a gift for his birthday from his mother and the guys at WVW, who had built it. Dean was almost jealous of it, he would have loved to have had such a great thing when he was a kid. Of course, he would have also loved to have had a back yard to put it in, too, but the projects he grew up in didn't allow for such luxuries. Dean was glad his son was getting better than he had.

"Yeah, he does," Cinnamon said, still not taking her gaze from the window. "He plays there, but he also goes there when he's upset, which he is now."

"How do you know he's upset?" Dean stirred his coffee again and took a sip, it was absolutely perfect. Cinnamon bought good quality coffee, used nothing but filtered water to make it, and if she had the time, like she did today, used a French Press coffee maker. Dean had never concerned himself much with coffee before, he just drank what was there. But, if he was to be honest, Cinnamon was making a bit of a coffee snot out of him.

"First, he didn't come in the house after school. He just went around back and climbed in the ring," Cinnamon said. "Second, he's pacing. Third, he's got that look on his face."

"What look?" Dean asked, getting to his feet and coming over to look out the widow, bringing his coffee with him.

"That look that reminds me of you," Cinnamon said. "That look that tells me he's chasing the darkness."

Dean didn't need to hear that last part, because now that he was looking at Neil, he saw exactly what was going on. Neil was pacing, but his motions were jerky and stiff. One hand was curled, the fingers looking more like claws than normal fingers and he kept running the fingers on his other hand through his hair. Neil's hair, like his mother's was a copper color, but like his fathers, it was curly and without regular, short haircuts, it was the type of hair that probably inspired the expression, "Unruly mop." It was obvious Neil was a little overdue for a haircut, and the more Neil ran his hands through his hair, the more messy it seemed to become. "Does this happen, often?" Dean asked, frowning. He had seen some vague signs of this in the months he'd stayed here, but nothing so full blown as this.

"No," Cinnamon said. "Not very often at all."

Dean didn't take his eyes off of Neil. "Shit, I was hoping this wouldn't happen to him."

"It's not nearly as strong as it was with you," Cinnamon said. "And usually I just let him pace it out of his system and then we talk about what's bothering him, if he's willing to talk."

"Really?" He forced himself to turn away from his son and look at Cinnamon. "Well, I'm going out there."

"Do you think that's best?"

Dean nodded, taking a gulp of coffee. "This is kind of my fault, isn't it? So it seems like the least I can do is handle it."

Cinnamon frowned. "It's not your 'fault.' I told you back when we first met, I accepted you, even your dark side. I accept it in our son, too. It's part of both of you. It's a little...unusual, but I never felt you were dangerous. I don't feel Neil is dangerous either."

Dean finished his coffee and put the cup in the sink, "Yeah?" he asked, looking at her, "If you were _so_ accepting and _so_ sure I wasn't dangerous, then why did you _so_ easily believe I shot your dog?"

For a moment, Cinnamon looked as if she'd been struck, but she recovered quickly. "You sold it like a pro, remember? And I suspected you hadn't killed Rocky a lot sooner than you might think."

"I just thought that this was my thing, a self defense mechanism I'd come up with to cope with a crazy life," Dean said, as he headed for the back door, "But Neil hasn't had a bad life, so I guess it's just hereditary." Before Cinnamon could respond to his observation, he headed out the door, closing it behind him.

* * *

"Neil," Dean called as he headed over.

Neil's head whipped around to face him and Dean watched as he pushed aside the upset, pushed aside the crazy, and broke into a grin instead. "Dad!"

"Got a hug for your old man?" Dean called up coming over to the ring.

"Sure!" Without even thinking about it, Neil climbed to the top rope in the corner and jumped. Dean caught him, expecting the kid would feel like catching a sack of cement, but instead, he fell into Dean's arms easily and the two of them hugged each other. Neil had clearly been practicing things, most likely with the members of WVW. "When did you get back?"

"This morning, when you were at school," Dean said as they drew apart. "And sorry, but I'm only here for a couple days. I have to join up with the WWE on Friday."

"Well, two days is better than no days," Neil said, but the look in his eyes told Dean he wished the stay could be longer.

"Well, we'll have the summer, "Dean reminded him, also wishing they had a little more time. Cinnamon had agreed to the idea that she and Dean would get married right after school got out for Neil, then the three of them would be on the road for the summer. It wasn't much of a honeymoon for Dean, but it was better than not having any time together.

"I can't wait," Neil said. "I'm gonna get to go to almost all your shows and see what it's like to be a big time wrestler!"

Dean marveled at how quickly his son had pushed back the darkness, pushed away the insanity, Dean didn't find it that easy himself, but perhaps it had been easier when he was younger. However, Dean also had the feeling that Neil hadn't eliminated the darkness, just pushed it away temporarily in his excitement over his father being here. He worried that if Neil didn't confront whatever it was that was inviting him to "chase the darkness," it would just stay inside him and fester until it forced its way out, and when it did, it would not be pretty.

_Cinnamon never minded my chasing the darkness,_ he thought. _She didn't like that it happened to me, but she didn't mind. She'd encourage me to do things, to burn it out of my system. I wonder if she does that with Neil? She also "fucked " me out of it one time and that was a hell of a night, but __that's not going to be a solution for Neil__, at least not until he's older and meets the right woman._

"So," Dean said, climbing into the ring. "I didn't have much of a chance to show or teach you anything when I was on my break, because you were in the cast."

"True," Neil said, climbing in with him, "But the leg is fine now."

"Yup," Dean nodded. "You were pacing really good up here."

Father and son looked at each other, and Dean knew Neil knew what he had seen. And, that Dean knew what it was. "Yeah, I wanted to make sure the ring was okay, we've had some rain lately."

It was a blatant lie and both knew it, but Dean decided not to push it. "So, does your Uncle Jasper or any of the other wuss-bait from the WVW show you stuff?"

Neil's head bobbed. "They've been showing me stuff all my life, it seems."

Dean nodded, "They've shown you how to run the ropes then, right?"

"Yeah, of course they have!" Neil rolled his eyes at this.

Again, Dean nodded. "Okay, show me."

Neil shrugged then started running across the ring, bouncing off the ropes and running back. Dean watched him going back and forth, nodding. The kid had it, that was for sure. Dean's first experience running the ropes wasn't until he was fourteen and the first few times weren't so great. Neil was ten and knew how to run them like a professional already. _He's going to have a hell of a leg up in the business, if he keeps it up. _"How long can you run them?" Dean asked.

"I've run them well over an hour," Neil said, still running. "I did puke once, but just once."

Dean grinned, "You were hitting them wrong, then. Don't worry, that's happened to me. Keep going." He watched as his son ran from one side to the other, doing that quick turn, putting his arm around the rope, then putting his back against the rope, then running to the other side to do the same thing. "You seem to know how to do it, now."

"Yeah," Neil admitted, running them at a slow, easy pace. "When I first started, I had to learn to do them with the middle rope, because if I did it on the top rope, I'd be hitting them with my head or neck instead of my back. Uncle Jasper would take off the top rope on the WVW ring after the shows and have me run them that way. One of the reasons I didn't get my own ring until I was nine was because he told mom it was best to wait until I was tall enough to handle a real top rope."

"Well, you seem tall enough now," Dean said. "I'm glad."

"Yeah, glad I grew, too," Neil remarked. Neil was taller than most of the boys in his class, standing at 5'2" tall. He weighed 106lbs of mostly muscle. He wasn't built like a weight lifter/body builder, he seemed instead to have long, lean muscles. He was an avid bike rider, who also enjoyed swimming, hiking, and being active in general. When he had been in a cast, the worst part of that, for Neil seemed to be that he couldn't be as active as he was used to. For a few weeks, while his splinted fingers healed, he was difficult, but after that, he got crankier and crankier, ready to blow up at anything. Finally, Dean took matters into his hands and started taking the kid to the gym with him, where they could put him on machines and give him lighter weights to work his upper body. At first Cinnamon had been scared, but Dean confirmed with Neil's doctor that it was okay. A few days after he started going to the gym with his dad, the moodiness stopped, he started sleeping better, and he had regained a lot of his rather sweet disposition.

"Can you go a little faster?" Dean asked. "Let's see if we can do it together."

"Sure."

While Neil ran the North/South ropes, Dean ran the East/West. Dean was surprised at how smoothly they fell into it together. Usually when you did this with someone else, it was too easy to meet in the middle and one of you would have to pause for the other, which would break the stride of the one who had to pause. Or, you'd end up smacking together and you'd both lose your momentum. But Neil and Dean seemed to have an awareness of each other that allowed them to do this with a minimal amount of interference from the other. "Let's go faster," Dean suggested, once they had such a smooth rhythm going that it almost seemed too easy. They both picked up the pace, running faster. There was a little more interference with each other at first, then, as their bodies got used to that and started running smoothly again, Dean again suggested they go faster.

Dean waited for the kid to give up, to yell out, "Enough!" but he didn't. What finally ended the game was the two of them crashing in the middle of the ring together, unable to stop themselves they were going so fast. The two of them fell to the ground, suddenly needing to breathe deeply. They rolled on their backs and looked up at the sky. "Good job," Dean said, moving to sit up. "Your leg seems to have heeled nicely."

"Yeah," Neil agreed, sitting up. "At the last appointment with the doctor, he told Mom he'd never seen someone recover so quickly."

"Good," Dean nodded. "So, tell me, have your WVW buddies taught you a Spike Bump?"

"Yeah," Neil said, looking almost as if he would roll his eyes. "Uncle Jasper says that's one of the crucial moves to know. And, it's one I can practice alone."

Dean's brows raised. "But you don't _do_ that, did you?" he asked. "You _always_ make sure you have proper adult supervision, right?"

"Oh, of course," Neil said, nodding as well.

_Bullshit_, Dean thought, and wasn't quite sure what he should do about this. Technically, he supposed he should lecture Neil about safety and then tell Cinnamon to keep a very close eye on him. But on the other hand, kids were kids. Was practicing basic wrestling moves alone any worse than climbing trees alone? Riding his bike alone? Dean thought of some of the crazy things he'd done as a kid. "Well," he finally said, his voice slow as he collected his thoughts. "Just be _very_ careful, okay? I don't want to see you get hurt."

"I'm careful," Neil said. "I don't want to get hurt and Uncle Jasper has warned me time and time again that one wrong move and I could screw myself up, but good."

"Good for your Uncle Jasper, then," Dean said. "Remind me to thank him. Meanwhile, show me your best Spike Bump."

Neil shrugged and rose to his feet. Dean also rose and went over to the corner to give Neil room. He watched carefully as his son fell forward, bringing his left arm up to his head, elbow bent and brought his right arm up, palm flat. He landed on the ring, looking as if he had landed on the top of his head, his legs going straight up, and then flipping over on his back.

Dean was impressed, Neil had done the move smoothly, flawlessly, and safely. He made it look like he had landed straight on his head, but he hadn't, he'd landed on his left forearm and his right palm, which he then elevated into a headstand and then fell over onto his back, selling it perfectly. If someone had grabbed him and made it look like he had caused that spike bump, it would look for all the world like someone had thrown him on his head so hard that Neil was forced straight up in the air and then flipped over flat on his back. Dean was more than impressed, Dean was _proud _of his son. Jasper Coleman and the other wrestlers from the WVW that were training Neil deserved a lot of the credit for teaching him right, as well as Cinnamon who had raised him to love wrestling like she did. But some of the credit, Dean realized, could go to him. Cinnamon may love wrestling, but she never wanted to be a wrestler, she wanted to be the audience. Even though he hadn't been a part of his life until recently, Dean knew that somehow, maybe on a genetic level, he was responsible for Neil's desire to do more than watch, but to actually _be_ a wrestler. Neil was going to be a second generation wrestler, thanks to him. "Wow," he said, honestly. "That was pretty good!"

"Thanks," Neil said, "I really worked hard at that. I know how to do some other stuff too, pretty good, at least that's what Uncle Jasper and the other guys tell me."

"Like what?" Dean asked.

"Back drop," Neil said, and without even being asked, he fell backwards, spreading his hands out to give as much surface area to spread out the impact. When he rose, Dean notice he even did that correctly, he planted his right elbow on the mat, rolled to his right knee, planted his left foot, and stood up and he did it easily, as if this was his natural way to get up. This was the best way to rise to be prepared for the next move with your opponent. Clearly Jasper was taking Neil's training quite seriously.

"Face bump," Neil called out. He leaped up, then fell forward, again spreading his legs out, but bringing up his arms out at the sides, to take the impact off his face. The trick was to keep your head above the mat and to fall so you first landed on your arms, legs, and chest, despite the name "Face Bump." If done correctly, it was a simple move with little chance of injury. Done incorrectly, and it could lead to a variety of medical problems, a broken nose, or missing teeth being the lesser of the evils. Dean had a bump on his nose that owed part if its creation to a botched up face bump.

"Wow, looks like they've taught you the basics, then," Dean said. Cinnamon had said they were good with Neil and were doing everything right, but Dean was thrilled to see the evidence of this as well. It wasn't that he didn't trust Cinnamon, he did, but he was a wrestler, she was not.

Neil nodded. "I can do a flip bump, too," he said, looking proud. "That took me awhile."

"Really?" Once again, Dean was impressed. A flip bump involved being able to get enough upward momentum from a standstill to do a somersault in the air and then land on your back in the ring, spreading your arms to take some of the impact off. It looked very impressive and it was a great way to "sell" a move your opponent made on you.

"Yeah, wanna see?"

"Sure."

Dean was thrilled, but not surprised when Neil did the move perfectly, landing on the floor of the ring with a resounding thud sound, that would make anyone think he'd trashed his back, but of course, he was fine. He rolled to his feet and grinned. "Okay," Dean said. "Color me impressed, it took me a long time to learn that move, it's not easy to flip in the air from a standstill."

"Well, that's-" Neil started to say, then stopped abruptly. For a moment, Dean saw that look flash into his eyes again, that anger that had started this whole thing in the first place. Then, his eyes flashed again, and Dean knew he was putting it aside. "-that was pretty hard for me to learn, too," he said, and Dean knew that wasn't what he was going to say at first.

Dean decided not to worry about that for now. "You want me to show you something?" he asked.

"A wrestling move?" Neil asked, his voice hopeful.

"Well, I'd suck at showing you ballet moves," Dean said, "Because I never took ballet. So, yeah, a wrestling move."

"Sure!" Neil's grin was so bright it was hard to believe that he had been chasing the darkness not too long ago.

"Okay, I'm going to show you a headlock driver," Dean said, walking over.

Neil thought for a moment, then his grin got even brighter. "Dirty Deeds!"

"Well, it's the old Dirty Deeds," Dean admitted. "Now I do a double armed DDT, and that's become Dirty Deeds."

"Yeah, but I'll always think of the headlock driver as Dirty Deeds," Neil confessed. "I like it better. I know a lot of folks like the new one, but I liked the old one a little bit more. Not that your new one isn't cool," he added hastily.

"Well, do you want to learn it?" Dean asked, not really caring which finisher Neil thought was the better. Either of them were fine with him.

Neil nodded, eagerly.

"Okay," Dean said. "I'm going to perform it on you, as slow as we can to get you used to it, so get along side of me." When Neil quickly did as asked, Dean nodded. "Okay, if we were in a match, I'd do a kick on you before. First to sell the move, second to give you an excuse to bend over so I can easily get my arm around your head. I won't kick you now, but lean forward a little, giving me access to your head."

When Neil leaned forward, Dean put his left arm around Neil's head and neck and moved his right arm under, so it looked as if Neil's head was trapped. In truth, he was barely touching it. "Make like this is a basic side headlock," he said. Neil put his arms around Dean, resting his palms lightly against his belly and back. "Good job," Dean told him. "Now, I'm going to kick my right leg forward, which will help give this whole move the look of incredible momentum, which helps sell it. Then, basically, I'm going to do a face bump, and you're going to do a spike bump. Now, notice my arm is pretty loose. That's because the most dangerous part of this for you, is that I could drive your head into the mat. You're going to have to do the spike bump with my arm around your neck, but it will be lose enough that you still have control Get your arms up in position for the spike as we're falling. Again, I'm going to try to do this as slow as I can. If you can't get your legs over so you're doing a back drop after the spike, that's okay, sometimes you need more momentum to do stuff like that. Are you ready?"

"Yes," Neil said, his voice a little muffled.

Dean swung his leg forward, slowly, then pulled it back, As he pulled back, he moved forward, going into a face plant. As Neil brought his arm up to do the spike bump, which served also to hide how lose Dean's arm was around his neck. They landed, Dean moving his right arm away from Neil to absorb some of the impact on his body. When they landed, he though Neil would just fall, but he spiked it, perfectly, moving his legs straight up in the air, then falling on his back. Dean went from being impressed by his son, to being amazed. He'd fought professionals who couldn't sell the move that hard, who merely protected their heads and pretty much just did a modified face plant. Neil did a true spike bump, making it look like Dean had slammed his head to the mat so hard, that he was forced to go "ass over teakettle" as the saying went. Yes, Neil was very young, and thus a lot more flexible than many of the wrestlers he used this move on, but it was still a credit to Neil's determination and drive that he had learned to sell so hard. Dean had helped train more than a few students who, in the beginning, were more concerned about making themselves look good, that they forgot that it was just as important and in many cases, _more_ important, to make your partner look good, too.

He knew there was another reason why they did the move perfectly this first time, trust. Neil trusted his father completely, knowing that his dad would do everything in his power to make sure Neil wasn't hurt. Trust was the key in wrestling, which was why in the old days of Kayfabe it was hard on wrestlers because their arch nemesis was often their best friend. When you had to trust someone with your life night after night, it had a tendency to make you closer to the person. That's why he had loved that rivalry against Seth when The Shield broke up. Because once Dean got over the shock of not having Seth as a teammate, he had a nemesis he trusted with his life. Sometimes, Dean wished he and Roman could get into a heated rivalry, because he was sure the two of them could put on matches together that people would talk about for years.

"That was_ epic!_" Neil said, rising to his feet. "Can we do the whole thing?"

"Sure," Dean said. "Slowly though, at least the first few times."

"Cool."

"Okay," Dean walked to the center of the ring, motioning Neil to take a few steps back so he was closer to the corner posts. "Remember, slowly; now come at me."

Neil walked over, when he was close enough, Dean raised his foot in a kick that was more of a slide down Neil's stomach. Neil's face twisted in an over-exaggerated expression of pain and he bent forward as if his stomach was hurting. Dean slipped around so he was at his side, got him into the side headlock. The two of them pitched forward. Again, Neil executed a perfect spike bump, legs shooting straight up as if from the force of the fall, then falling onto his back.

"Do you know how proud of you, I am?" Dean asked, ruffling his hair as they got up.

"That was fun," Neil said, "Can we do it again?"

"Sure."

They did it a few more times at the snails pace, then little by little began speeding it up. Dean started wishing he had a video camera trained on the ring so he could tape it. It was hard to see when he was actually performing the move, but he was 99% sure that the two of them were selling it perfectly. He wondered if maybe he could get Cinnamon out here to tape this, but dismissed that, at least for now. He was hoping to still talk to Neil, and if she was filming this, she might want to stick around; she might freak watching the move. Cinnamon knew that wrestling moves were designed to protect the wrestlers as much as possible, but she was the house paramedic for the WVW local shows, so she knew that even the safest move could go horribly wrong.

When they had done it several times at top speed, Dean asked Neil, "Do you think you can perform it on me?"

Neil hesitated, then nodded. "If we do it real slow to start with."

"We will," Dean said. "I don't know if I can spike bump quite as well as you did when we're going slow."

"I"ll bet you can," Neil said. "I've seen you do it before on TV. That was one of the reasons why I had to learn how to do it, because I saw you once just go shooting straight up and over, like all your... body parts?" He paused and thought. "All your _joints_ were fuse together. It was _so_ cool."

"Well, again, it's easier when you go fast and have that momentum on your side. But let's go."

This time Dean went to the corner while Neil stayed in the middle. He walked out slowly. "Okay, kick," he called out. Neil brought his foot up and grazed it off Dean's stomach. Dean bent over at the waist, far enough so Neil could get him in the headlock, then Neil put his foot forward and pulled it back, falling forward, Neil doing his face bump and Dean doing a spike bump.

"I did it!" Neil crowed when they were finished. "I _did_ it!"

"You sure did," Dean agreed. "Let's do it again."

Just like when Dean was the aggressor, they did the move over and over again, speeding up a little bit each time, until they were doing it as fast as they did it in the WWE, as fast as just about anyone else Dean had wrestled with before. And Dean had an overwhelming urge to take Neil to his next event and bring him out. "This is my son," he'd say, not just to the audience, but to all the other wrestlers. "He's ten years old, and he can do a headlock driver better than most of you can. Both give it _and_ receive it. And he can do a spike bump that puts half you professionals to shame." Dean would have loved Neil even if Neil had hated wrestling, but if he were totally honest with himself, he loved that Neil wanted to be a wrestler. If he changed his mind when he got a little older, Dean would be very supportive and understanding, because first and foremost, he wanted Neil to be happy. But, oh, not so deep down, Dean was hoping his son would become a professional wrestler, one who loved it as much as he did.

End of Part One

* * *

**Special thanks to: **

**Nancy:**** Aw, thank you. And I hope your son is doing better after surgery? That must have been rough on all of you, having to go through something like that around the holidays. I'm glad if ****_Blinded by the Lights_ made you smile. And, I'm glad you liked_ The Morning After_ too. I figured Dean and Neil needed a little father/son bonding time and Dean thought he should be the one to tell Neil. And thank you for the nice comments about my writing, I really do appreciate it. **

**Guest:**** Well, thank you, I'm glad you like Neil. I've gotten pretty fond of him, myself! I love that he reminds you of your own nephew, that's is so neat. And, I'm glad you put me in the same category for writing as Lauraxxx, as she's one of my favorite authors ****on this site. Thank you so much for your review! **

**Just A Reader:**** Aw, well, thank you! It warms my heart that my story was able to make your day a little brighter. This story is not my "big" project, but something that came long and interrupted me that I had to write. I am hoping to go back to working on the big project now. Again, thank you so much for letting me know that ****_The Morning After_ made your day. It's one of the nicest things I've heard about my writing.**

* * *

**Author's Notes: **

Reviewing is important enough to me that I've decided that in my author's notes I'm going to start addressing the many reason why people don't review (because lurkers have a million excuses, that they'll go into loving detail to explain if they are asked why they look at Fanfiction as a free buffet where they take willingly but never want to give) I know I can't force you to read this and I'm sure most lurkers won't, but I can convince _one_ person who was lurking to step forward and review (or, if on AO3, at least press the damned Kudos button) then I've done good. If I can convince that _same_ person to review someone elses work that they've been reading and enjoying as well, then I'll consider this a major success.

I am aware that most of my arguments are based on if you like the story. Negative reviews are another matter entirely and I will tackle them another time. So, for now, all arguments will be based on the idea that you like the story. You may not be in love with the story, but you like it and you read it whenever it's updated.

Okay the argument for this time is:

**I don't know what to say!** This comes with a twin, **I ****might say something stupid and feel bad****.** I find this one interesting, because it comes across like the reader feels that their "reputation" is _far_ more important than showing a common courtesy to someone who gave you something.

When I compared fanfiction to homemade sweaters given as gifts, I was called to task because a sweater is a gift for one specific person, while fanfiction is given to "Anyone and everyone." People have used this argument to justify why they don't have to review. "It wasn't something made specifically _for_ me, so I don't make me feel obligated to do anything."

So, maybe I need a different example. Writing fanfiction is a lot like being the person who hands out those little samples at the grocery store, but the big difference is that we actually make the food we're passing out, we don't just heat it or open it and put it in little cups, we've completely cooked it. You may walk right by that person, not stopping to sample the mini sausages, or whatever it is they are offering. That is certainly your right and of course if you don't take a sausage, you don't owe Sausage lady anything.

However, if you do take the sausage, do you just rudely grab one and walk away? Do you say to yourself _She gets paid to do this, so I don't owe it to her to be polite._ (Remember that fanfiction writers don't get any pay _but_ feedback) Do you help yourself to sausages and justify it by saying, _If she __**really**__ cares about this food, she doesn't need to know if__** I**__ like it or not. A __**true**__ cook doesn't need anyone to appreciate her food but herself!__ If she expects me to say thank you for this than she isn't a real cook._

No one is saying that you have to take the sausage and then wax poetically about how that was the best morsel of food you've ever eaten, or that your taste buds are now dancing with glee. Sausage woman will most likely love hearing those things about the food she's pushing but you know, she'll also be pretty happy if you at least say, "Thank you" as you eat your sausages.

There is nothing wrong with leaving a review that says nothing but, "Hey, great story," or "I liked this story," "Good idea," "Thank you," or, "I enjoyed this..." Are you getting the point? You do _not_ have to write a thousand word essay praising me (or any other writer) on our clever use of vowels and quotation marks. Would we like an essay? Of course we would. Just like Sausage lady would likely appreciate hearing an in depth opinion about her sausages, we writers would love an in depth review on what our readers liked about our story. But anything, even a mere, "Thanks" is better than silence.

To not leave even a simple "I liked this" review on a story you've read because you feel you'll look bad is the same as not saying "thank you" to sample lady because you have the sniffles and you're afraid your voice will sound less than perfect. Ask almost any writer on this site and they will tell you that seeing "Thank you" or "I liked this" is a lot better than silence. At least we know you read it and you enjoyed it.

Leaving a review shouldn't be something you do for only yourself. You shouldn't refuse to leave a review because you feel other people (not the author) will go, "Wow, look, all this person did was say they liked it. My god, that's it? Why not say a lot more? What a terrible human being!" Leaving a review on a story you read is not supposed to be about _you_. It's supposed to be about the _author_. You already got something for free based on another person's hard work, you got to read a story. Leaving the review is just a way of thanking the writer. How much you thank or how you say thank you is something between you and them and shouldn't be influenced by what "They" will think. Let's go back to Sausage lady, but imagine now that you just got your sausage and now are taking a coupon. The next person comes up and takes a sample, mumbles a quick, "thanks" and ducks off. Do you really think, _What a terrible person! They really just only said thank you instead of lovingly eating the sausage and describing every single bite!_Doubtful. More likely you barely register what they said, but Sausage lady heard it, and she's probably glad to get it.

Be honest, do you really feel it's okay to always take and never to even say thank you to the folks providing all this entertainment? Yes, five other people might thank Sausage lady, but if you're taking a sausage, it doesn't matter what the person before you did. You should say thank you. You shouldn't expect some else to be polite so you can be impolite.

Predictable counter argument:

"Not so fast, Willow! Reviews are not only between the reader and writer. People read these reviews sometimes to see if they might be interested in reading the story!" That is true. (Stop chortling, you haven't won this argument yet.) There is a huge amount of fanfiction on this site and sometimes reviews are and important way to see if the story is any good. So, if you are one of those people who can't bring yourself to say anything negative and see _nothing_ positive about a story, and don't think anyone should waste their time reading it, you should _not_ leave a review. But if you think the story is worth reading, say_ something_. Sure it would help the reader if you wrote a long review about exactly what you liked in the story, but still, writing, "Good story," "I liked it," "Yeah, Dean in the ring!" and even, "I hope to see a new chapter soon," is telling anyone looking at reviews that you think this story is worthy of their attention. That you are reading it and enjoy reading it. It's not saying it's the best story on the site, no one will take you to task if they don't find it as good as you, you're simply saying that you've read the story and you like the story.

Again, going back to Sausage lady. You're at the supermarket and you're not sure you even want a sausage. You're more of a bacon person. But, as you walk by, you hear, "I like these." "These are good sausages." "I hope she brings out more, I'd like another one," Aren't you going to be more inclined to take a sausage than if you hear... _nothing?_ No one is going. "MY GOD THESE SAUSAGE ARE A TINY MORSEL OF PROCESSED MEAT HEAVEN AND ANYONE WHO DOESN'T CHOW THEM DOWN IS CLEARLY PERFORMING THEIR OWN RECTAL EXAM!" They are merely saying that yeah, these are good sausages. And if you're feeling in the mood for sausages, you're likely to take one, right?

You speak when you give a review, even two words says something. But, so does silence. It's just with silence, nobody is being helped. The author isn't, because she doesn't know what you thought. As far as she knows, you might have printed the story out and wiped your arse with it. Or, read the first paragraph and that was it. Potential readers aren't helped because they don't know that you liked it. As far as they know, the _only _people who bothered to read the story are the people who left a review. If you don't leave a review, what you're saying is, "I don't care if this person never posts another word again." So, _do_ you care? If you don't, then _nothing_ I say will help. But if you do...well, the next step is up to you.

Okay, until next time, Take care. And if you want to argue this point with me, but would rather not do it in public, you are welcome to PM me with why you disagree. I treat PM's as exactly that, _private_ messages. Even if I mention what you say in another author's note, I will not identify who you are.

Peace Out

Willow


	6. Chasing The Darkness Part II of II

**Disclaimer Dean Ambrose is the property of the WWE and/or the actor / sports entertainer / superstar that portray him. This story is intended as tribute only and is not intended to infringe on any copyrights. **

**Original characters are the property of me, and the children of my own imagination. Any resemblance to any real persons, living or dead is purely coincidental. **

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**Author's Note: I know this appears to be a very very long chapter. It isn't. Half of it is my author's notes where I respond to one of my "readers" who took me to task for having the nerve to suggest that if you read and like a story, maybe you ought to let the author know you liked it. Apparently, this was the last straw for her, so she blasted me out for my nerve and also told straight out lies about me. Feel free to skip it if you wish to avoid drama. I know I should be the bigger person and ignore her, but she told lies as if they were facts about me. That I will not let go. **

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_**Chasing The Darkness **_

Part II

"Okay, that's enough for one day," Dean said. He went over to the edge of the ring, sitting down on the apron so his feet dangled off the sides. "Sit."

It wasn't a suggestion, and Neil knew it. "That was cool," he said, sitting down next to his father.

"It sure was," Dean said. "I need to thank your WVW buddies, they've really showed you a lot."

"Uncle Jasper showed me the most," Neil admitted. "He comes over here and shows me in my ring and he shows me when we go to the meets early, if he can. Sometimes he shows me stuff when the matches are over, too."

Dean had, what he described as a "Grateful jealousy" towards Jasper. He was jealous that Jasper got to spend more time with his son than he did, jealous that he had only known Neil for less than a year, but Jasper had known him since he was a toddler. But, as jealous as he was, he was grateful too, grateful that Neil had not lacked for a positive male role model in his life, as Dean himself had lacked. Grateful that Jasper had help nurture that spark inside him that was leading Neil down the road to becoming a professional wrestler. "I'm glad," he said.

"But it isn't as cool as having my dad, the amazing Dean Ambrose teaching me his finishing move," Neil said.

"Yeah, just make sure you don't do that unless you're with someone who knows what they're doing," Dean cautioned. "I'm serious here, Neil, if you screw up you could seriously hurt yourself and someone else and vice versa. I trust you, which is why I showed you how to do it, but you have to promise me you won't betray that trust."

Neil nodded. "I won't, Dad, I promise. I'll only practice doing it with the guys from the WVW, I promise."

"Okay."

They sat in companionable silence for a few moments, then Dean decided it was time to get to the heart of the issue, the reason he'd come out here in the first place. "Your Mom and I were watching you through the window before I came out here," he said. "You looked pretty upset. Are you ready to tell me what's bothering you?"

Neil fidgeted for a moment, kicking his feet along the sides of ring, and pulling at the bottom rope until he finally said, "Gym and E-class."

"Gym and E-class?" Dean repeated, having no idea why the first would upset his son and having no clue what the second one was.

"I'm in middle school," Neil said. "We get to pick what we want to take for gym out of a bunch of stuff. And we get E-class, which means Elective Class, and we can pick what we want to take from a list of stuff. Then, mid semester we can pick something else. Today we got to pick."

"Okay," Dean said, still not understanding why this had upset Neil, but encouraging him to elaborate.

"Last time I took basketball for gym," Neil said, "And I oceanography for my E-class. Because Cory, Marcus, Sam, and Javier all wanted to take them."

"You all wanted to take oceanography?" Dean asked, a little surprised.

"Yeah, we learned about sharks," Neil explained. "Sharks are cool."

"Oh," Dean nodded. "Did you all take basketball, too?"

"All of us but Samantha," Neil said. "She took dance."

"Okay," Dean said. "So, that was fine, right? Now what's going on?"

"Everyone wants to take wood shop for E-class, and even Sam wants to take volleyball for gym."

"Everyone?" Dean tipped his head to one side to study his son.

"Everyone but me," Neil admitted. "I was going to just go along with them, but then I - I realized I've been doing that all year. Only taking what they wanted me to take, what we all 'agreed' to take. And I haven't taken _anything_ I would have picked."

"Okay," Dean nodded, trying to understand where Neil was coming from. Dean had never been one to follow the crowd growing up. He either was the leader or he followed his own path. He didn't reject company, but he didn't pursue it or change the path if it wasn't available. But he knew there were kids who were extremely concerned with what their friends thought and did and didn't want to be seen as someone who was outside of the norm. Neil had shown signs of being both types to Dean, so he wasn't sure what he should advise him. Suggesting Neil tell his friends to piss into the wind didn't seem like the wise thing to say right now. "Do you have to take these things with them? Are you a group that can't be separated?"

Neil shook his head. "No, we just like to stick together because we're friends. We all used to be in the same classes back in our old school, but now that we're in middle school we don't see each other as often, so we wanted to get into the same free period and gym classes."

"What classes do you want to take, then?"

"For E-class?" Neil scratched his arm. "I wanted to take public speaking."

Dean was surprised at this. When Neil had fallen down the well and been rescued, for awhile he had been a bit of a public figure in their small town. The local paper had caught wind of the story and printed an article about it. Fortunately, Dean's name hadn't been brought into it, which meant the story stayed local, but still, for awhile, when they went out, total strangers were coming over to Neil asking him how he was doing. Neil had shied away from the attention to the point of avoiding going out in public until the excitement of being the kid who fell down the well had died down. Dean couldn't imagine why Neil would choose to take public speaking if he didn't have to. "Why do you want to take that?"

"Because you have to take public speaking before you can take other things," Neil explained. "Like drama or debate."

"And you want to take drama or debate, because?"

"Because the idea of talking to crowds terrifies me," Neil blurted out. "And if I'm going to be a wrestler, I've _got _to be comfortable with it. If I'm your son and a professional wrestler, everyone's going to hold me to high standards because you're one of the best on the mike. So, I thought that if I took classes that helped me learn to speak in public, I'd feel more comfortable with it."

Dean's eyebrows raised and he nodded. The kid had obviously put some serious thinking into this, which surprised and impressed Dean. In his years with the WWE, he had spent time with fans around Neil's age and while many of them professed to wish to be professional wrestlers, most were doing nothing but watching wrestling. If they thought of what they'd have to do in the future, most were convinced that they could go to a wrestling training school for a few weeks and be ready for the ring. And while it was true that good schools did teach you how to have presence in the ring, most of these kids thought it was going to be nothing but training to wrestle. They didn't worry about the talking part, even if they were painfully shy, they seemed to feel that somehow, that part of it would magically come to them. Dean didn't know if Neil was just a lot more intuitive than other kids or if his time hanging around with the guys at WVW had given him more insight into what it truly took to be a wrestler, or if it was a combination of both, but either way, Neil's dedication combined with his natural talent would get him far in the business. Dean knew he could open doors for his son, but it would be up to him to walk through them. "I think that's a good plan," Dean said. "So, can't you take public speaking and your friends can take wood shop?"

"That's what I suggested," Neil said, grabbing onto the bottom rope again and pulling at it in an agitated fashion. "And they weren't happy, but they finally agreed to that."

"Okay," Dean said. "So, that's solved. What happened with gym?"

Neil twanged the rope a few times before speaking. "Every summer Cory and I take a summer sport. Last summer we took swimming lessons. But the summer before then, we wanted to take swimming, but it filled up too fast, so we took gymnastics instead. We got there kind of late, I forget why, but gymnastics and tennis were the only things open, and we took gymnastics. We were kind of pissed - uh, I mean, ticked off about it, but when I told Nathaniel, he's another wrestler at WVW, he said gymnastics was good for wrestling. That it encouraged flexibility and a lot of the stuff I learned in gymnastic would be really helpful in learning wrestling moves. So, after that, I was a lot more happy about it. And I found I liked it. I learned to do all sorts of things, like headstands and handstands, which was really helpful in learning things like the spike bump. I mean, I already take mixed martial arts classes, because it's good for wrestling and mom says it teaches discipline, but I like gymnastic too. It's like the better I get at gymnastics the easier MMA gets, and the better I get at MMA, the easier gymnastics get. I don't get that with anything else, so I want to take gymnastics again."

"Okay," Dean said, for what seemed like the billionth time in the last ten minutes. He had already learned on leave that being a parent meant a lot of listening. His first reaction to Neil bringing problems to him was to go, "Let me fix this.." and he still found himself wanting to do that. Cinnamon had taught him that sometimes, quite often in fact, the _best_ thing to do was listen and let Neil discover the solution. "Okay" was one of the 'good' words, the words that showed Neil he was listening, but not ready to jump on him with solutions. "So, you want to take gymnastics." That was another thing he'd learned, find the best way to sum up what Neil had just said and say it back to him.

Neil nodded.

"So, can't you do that?" Another trick he'd learned. Don't make statements, ask questions instead.

"That's what I thought," Neil said, his voice rising a little. "But when I suggested that I wanted to take gymnastics, they started making fun of me."

"Why?" Dean actually had a pretty good idea why they might have made fun of him, but he didn't want to offer any suggestions. Let Neil tell him.

"They said gymnastics was for girls," Neil said, refusing to look at his father. "Even Cory agreed with Javier and Marcus, even though he liked it when we took it a couple summers ago. He said it was okay back then, because we were babies and gymnastic is for girls and babies. But now that we were in middle school, we were too old."

Dean fought the urge to roll his eyes. He remembered those days of junior high, where life seemed to be full of pitfalls among your peers. You could do this, you couldn't do that. This brand of sneakers was okay to wear, this brand made you look stupid. Or, the ultimate insult-

"Marcus said guys doing gymnastics was gay!" Neil blurted out and Dean heard the pain and anguish in his son's voice. "Then they all agreed and Javier asked me if I was - if I was a fag."

"He asked if you were a cigarette?" Dean asked, deliberately pretending to misunderstand.

"Huh?" For a moment, Neil forgot his misery, and stared at his dad in confusion.

"In England they call cigarettes, fags." Dean explained.

"Oh," Neil said. "Well, that's not what he meant. He was asking if I was gay."

Dean nodded. "Are you?"

Neil's eyes widened. "NO!" He exclaimed, almost horrified.

"Oh," Dean said, keeping his voice casual and even. "Because it wouldn't matter to me if you were. Or your Mom."

"Yeah, right," Neil said, rolling his eyes.

"No, seriously, it wouldn't," Dean said. "I mean, at least not as far as how we felt about you. We'd still love you just as much."

Neil studied him. "Are you really saying you wouldn't care?" he asked, "that even deep down you wouldn't wish I was straight?"

"I didn't say that," Dean said, knowing he had to pick his words very carefully now, least he gave his son the wrong idea. "We might at times wish you were straight, but not because it would make you a different or better person. We would wish it because it's easier to get by in this world if you're straight. We're getting better as a species, but we've still got a long way to go. And as long as middle school boys think the worst insult they can toss at someone is to accuse them of being a homosexual, it's never going to be as easy to be gay as it is to be straight. I don't know what will happen by the time you're an adult, but right now, in most states, if you're gay, you couldn't marry the person you love, hell, you couldn't even have them at your bedside if you were dying in some hospitals. It's not easy being homosexual in a country that thinks that having rights means that you have the right only to have what most people want, which is to marry someone of the opposite sex. So, maybe I put that wrong. Maybe what I should have said that we wouldn't wish you were straight as much as we would wish the world would be more fair to you."

"Really?"

Dean nodded. "Yeah, really. We love you, little man, you know that, right?"

Neil nodded.

"Well, if you told us you were gay, it wouldn't change who you were. It just would mean we know something about you we didn't know before. But if you were gay, would you still love the fried pickles from Sheetz?"

Neil nodded. "They're the best."

"Okay, would you still like chocolate ice cream over vanilla?"

"Yeah."

"Would you still think grapes were better than cherries?"

"Grapes are the best fruit in the world."

"Okay, then." Dean grinned. "So, you'd be exactly the same as you were. The only thing that would change is that now we would know something about you we didn't know before."

"What if I told you I murdered someone," Neil asked. "That would be something you didn't know about me."

Dean grinned, appreciating that Neil didn't just take everything at face value. "Well, actually, we'd still love you. We wouldn't approve of what you did, if it really was just straight up murder for no reason other than self defense. But we'd still love you. And, we'd tell you to do the right thing and turn yourself in. But Neil, it's not the same and I think you know it."

"Some people around here would say it is," Neil muttered.

"Some people spend way too much time judging their neighbor instead of loving them," Dean said. "And since the ones who scream about it the worst usually claim to be the biggest bible readers, I find that rather interesting. So, were your friends right? Are you gay?"

"No!" Neil shook his head. "I'm pretty sure I'm not gay."

"Pretty sure?"

"Well," Neil's brows furrowed. "Cory talks about girls and wants a girlfriend, but I don't think I'm ready for a girlfriend. But, I don't want a boyfriend either. And, if someone came to me and put a gun to my head and told me I had to lock lips with one of my friends, the friend I would pick was Sam."

"Good choice," Dean said, nodding his approval. "She's a cutie. Much better looking than Cory. Much better looking that Marcus, even. And Marcus is a handsome bastard."

Neil giggled, then frowned. "But my friends now think I'm gay and they think being gay is bad."

"Well, if they try to tell you that you're gay again, ask them why they think you are." Dean suggested. "Don't get mad, don't get upset. Look them straight in the eye and say, 'I'm not, but why should that matter?'"

"They'll laugh at me," Neil whined.

"Yeah, they might," Dean said. "But if they do? Then they aren't very good friends are they?" He almost cringed as he said it. It was the truth, but it was an adult truth and a hard one for a child. Kids had to deal with so much change all ready, just from growing up, they tried to keep everything they could the same. And no child wanted to walk away from his friends, friends he'd grown up with.

"I guess." Neil sighed. "I-I don't understand why it matters so much. I mean, we'll still get together at lunch and after school. I just don't want to take the gym class they want to take, and I don't want to take the same E-class they do. Why is it so important?"

"That's something you have to ask them," Dean said.

"I guess," Neil frowned, looking at the bottom rope that he was still twanging once in awhile. "I'll probably call or text Cory after dinner and homework and find out if he's still mad at me."

"If he is, he's an idiot," Dean said.

"Why?"

"Because you're much cooler than he is," Dean said. "If he rejects you as a friend, his cred goes down considerably."

"Uh, Dad, you might favor me just a little," Neil said, but he was smiling. "'Cause, like, you're my dad and all."

"Oh," Dean pretended to ponder this, then shook his head. "Nah, you're cooler. You wrestle."

"Cory sometimes says he wants to be a wrestler," Neil said.

"Yeah, but is he willing to risk the scorn of his friends to take classes that will help him? Even if one of those classes is him facing a fear, like you're doing with the public speaking class?"

"No," Neil said, shaking his head. "But he is in my MMA class."

"Yeah, well, you're cooler, you're more dedicated," Dean said. "And don't argue with me, I'm your father."

Neil chuckled. Dean knew he was still unhappy about the events of the day, but he was getting over it as best he could. Dean was also pretty sure he had done everything he could about the situation. The only thing that would make Dean feel better would be if his friends accepted him and his choices. And Dean couldn't make that happen. On that, only Neil and his friends could work it out. But, there was another issue at stake, the reason why he came out in the first place.

"Neil, when your mom and I were watching you through the window, you were more than a little upset," Dean said, choosing his words carefully. "I know why you were upset, but what was going on in your head?"

Neil frowned. "I was angry," he said. "And I didn't want to be angry, but I did."

"What do you mean?" Dean's voice was quiet, not wanting to startle Neil, but wanting him to continue.

"I know I shouldn't get angry," Neil said. "And when I get angry, I should do whatever I can to calm down. And a lot of times, all I have to do is walk away from whatever is angering me, and I calm down and the anger goes away. But, sometimes..."

His voice trailed off, and Dean saw the look in his eyes. He wasn't chasing the darkness, as he had been when Dean first came out, but Dean knew he was listening to the darkness. The darkness was a bitch of a mistress. She taunted to you, called to you, then made you chase her, looking for the reward she promised. And yeah, she gave you that reward, she let you forget who you were for awhile, but you paid her price. When she left your mind and let you take control again, if you were lucky, you might be having sex with your girlfriend. If you were okay, you'd find bruises on your body. If you were unlucky, you might start feeling the pain of broken bones. You'd know how it all happened, but what you wouldn't understand was _why_ it happened, _why_ you let yourself get into this situation. In the case of having sex with your girlfriend, well, that wasn't too hard to fathom. But when you felt the pain of a battered body and realized that you had deliberately started a bar fight, just to fight through the injury, to reward the darkness with what she loved the most, pain, in particular, _your_ pain, you knew that in some ways, she had you by the balls. He didn't want that for Neil, but he was afraid he might not be able to spare him from it. "Sometimes, what?" Dean asked.

"Sometimes, I want to be angry," Neil said, his voice ever so slightly off, as if a tiny part of him was lost somewhere. "It's like... it _calls_ to me. And it's telling me that if I totally lose it, it'll feel good. It will be like... wiping something out of my mind."

"Does this happen often?" Dean asked.

Neil shook his head. "A few times, but not too often. And every time I've been able to push it away."

"You know I have the same thing with me," Dean said.

Neil hesitated, then nodded. "I thought so."

"Oh?"

"I watch you on TV," Neil reminded him. "I know you're usually faking that anger, faking the crazy, but you learned it from somewhere. And yeah, maybe you could watch someone else and copy what they do, but when it started happening to me, I realized you didn't copy anyone but yourself."

Dean knew Neil was smart, he got excellent grades, but what never ceased to amaze him was how intuitive Neil could be. "Yeah, you figured me out."

Neil sighed. "Am I gonna go all the way crazy and hurt someone?" he asked. "Like become a serial killer or something?"

Dean wished he could laugh and tell him he was being foolish, but he wouldn't do that. He owed it to the kid to be honest, since Neil had gotten this cursed gift from him. "I admit I've gotten into a few bar fights when I was chasing the darkness, but I never permanently damaged someone. Broke a few limbs? Yeah, a few fingers. A couple arms, but that's about it. And I don't do that anymore, a least I don't start fights. But, I've never wanted to kill anyone. I can't answer for you, but I don't think you have that in you. You have a lot of empathy, which cold blooded killers lack. If you're like me, you're in the most danger of hurting yourself. Are you worried about that, too?"

Neil nodded. "Yeah, wh-when I'm fighting it, I find I tighten my fingers until they hurt, they're so tight. But I don't stop, because the pain feels kind of good. And I know if I fell into it, I might really hurt myself."

Dean nodded. "Yeah, that all sounds familiar."

"So, can I do anything?" Neil asked.

"Well, if I have it correctly, you're pretty good at pushing it away for awhile. Am I right?" Dean waited until Neil nodded, then continued. "So, if you're in a situation where you can't do anything, like school or something, push it aside. Then, when you're able to, work out. Go running, go bike riding, but don't just go for a jog or a casual ride, really give it your all. Come out here and run the ropes for awhile. Exhaust your body. You'll feel the burn, because any hard work out gives you the burn. The Darkness likes to see you in pain, but she'll accept the useful pain of a work out."

Neil looked at him and nodded slowly. "I-I didn't think of that," he said. "I could practice my MMA stuff too! And do other stuff like push ups, sit ups, that stuff!"

Dean nodded. "Yeah, you've got it. Back before you were born, when your mom and I were together, she used to get me to take her dog out running. Sometimes she even went with me. But if she wasn't around, I'd go to the gym. Lifting weights was always a good thing. If you do that, though, promise me you won't ever up your weights when you're chasing the darkness. Only lift or work with a weigh you know you can handle. You'll still get the burn, but you'll be less likely to do something your body will need more than 24 hours to recover from."

Neil nodded, a flash of something closer to happiness showing in his eyes. "So, you took a bad thing and made it work for you, that's pretty cool."

Dean shrugged, trying to look modest, but loving the admiration in his son's voice. "Well, yeah, I guess I did. But, don't think this means you should go looking for it. In other words, don't deliberately try to get pissed off, okay? I don't think that's healthy. And if you feel you're really in danger of hurting yourself, if you can't work it off with a work out, you have to promise me, you'll go and tell your mother or if I'm home, tell me. Will you promise me that?"

Neil hesitated, then nodded. "Yeah, I'll do that."

"Cool." Dean nodded. "That's all I ask. I just don't want to see you hurt, okay? I had enough of that when you fell down the well."

"Yeah," Neil said, "That was-"

Dean would never find out what Neil was going to say about his time in the well, because the kid paused, tipping his head to the side, then Dean realized there were voices coming from the side of the house, getting closer.

"God," a young girl's voice was saying, "You can be so stupid,"

"Oh? You were there, too!" A young boy's voice rose in defense of himself.

Dean was pretty sure he recognized the voices, Neil's rising to his feet and leaning over the top rope further confirmed he was right, so he wasn't surprised when Cory and Sam walked into the back yard. Sam looked determined, Cory looked reluctant as if he was afraid of facing Neil but more afraid of what Sam might do if he didn't face Neil. They walked up to the ring.

Neil leaned against the rope, looking almost bored, but Dean was standing next to him now, and could feel the tension in the kid's body. He looked at Cory and Sam, but said nothing.

"Neil?" Sam said, when they were right in front of them. "Cory has something to say to you."

"Why do I have to go first?" Cory asked, looking irritated.

"Because if I go first, you'll just say, 'ditto,' because that's the kind of idiot you are!" Sam said, rolling her eyes.

Dean tried not to laugh.

Cory glared at Sam, then turned to look at Neil. "I'm sorry," he said. "I shouldn't have made fun of you for wanting to take gymnastics. That was wrong of me so please forgive me and don't be mad." The last sentence was said in a mad rush and he turned to look at Sam. "See? I said it, happy now?"

Sam glared at him, then looked at Neil. "I'm sorry, too. It was wrong of us. We don't always have to take every course together and if you want to take some other stuff for E-class or gym, that's your business. And we can either take it with you, or let you take it without us. And I hope you forgive me."

Dean watched as Cory turned his head away from Sam and Neil and pretended to stick his finger in his throat and throw up. Fortunately, Sam or Neil didn't see this.

"You didn't make fun of me," Neil said, shrugging as if he didn't have a care in the world.

"No, but I didn't defend you, either," Sam said, pushing her long black hair off her shoulders. She really was a pretty young girl. Dean had the feeling that in a year or two, she might cause a rift in the friendship between the little group of five, because all four boys would want to date her. "And that was wrong. I should have told everyone to back off. But Marcus gets started sometimes and it's hard to get him to shut up. But, anyway, I was wrong. And I'm sorry. I can't make you forgive me, but I hope you do."

Neil hesitated for only a few seconds, then nodded. "We're cool," he said.

Cory looked over at him. "Are we cool?" he asked.

"Yeah," Neil said. "I mean, we've been friends since preschool, if anyone knows you can be an idiot, it's me and Sam. I'm not going to break up the three of us for something I've known for years."

"Hey!" Cory objected, looking angry, then he saw the grin on Neil's face, and shook his head. "Yeah, yeah, tease me."

"Yeah, yeah, you deserve it," Neil said. "But yeah, I forgive both of you. I mean, we were once Shield Jr, we have to stick together.

"Yeah!" Cory said, enthusiastically, "I was Seth!"

"I wouldn't brag about that if I were you," Sam said, rolling her eyes. "Remember, he's the weaselly traitor."

"Hey!" Cory said, glaring at Sam, "he didn't sell out, he bought in!"

"Oh please!" Sam said, rolling her eyes. "If he gets any more weaselly, he's going to start sneaking into chicken coops."

Dean tried not to laugh. "So, are you three cool?" he asked instead. When all three children nodded, he looked at Cory and Sam. "I'm glad you guys are friends again. And, if my boy is cool with you, then I'm cool with you. But, there is one thing I want to say, because it's bothering me."

"What's that, Mr. Ambrose?" Samantha asked.

"You guys are growing up," Dean said. "Doing that whole puberty thing. And I know when you're with your friends, it's easy to be crude and to say mean things because everyone else says them. I don't care if you guys call each other idiots, dumbasses, or dicks. That doesn't bother me at all, Neil can confirm that." He paused, and looked at Neil, who nodded as if on cue. Dean turned his attention back to the kids. "But, I'd really appreciate it if you kids would at least try not to call each other fags or accuse each other of being gay as if it's the worst thing in the world. I know you probably don't understand, but you know, some of your friends in school might be dealing with that issue, wondering about themselves. Statistics say that there will be kids in your school who will be homosexual, bisexual, transgender, and possibly even asexual. And they're probably having a rough time coming to terms with being... well, not like most of their friends. They're probably scared of what their parents will say, what teachers will say, what their friends will say. And, hearing you kids insulting each other by calling each other things like 'fag' or 'queer' or any other derogatory terms isn't going to make what they're going through any easier. So, as a favor to me, can you guys, like, lead by example and not talk and act like being gay is awful? You never know who might overhear. And in return? I can't answer for your parents, or even Neil's Mom, but when you're around me, I don't care if you accuse each other of having shit-for-brains, or being a fuck-faced moron. I won't tell a soul."

Samantha looked at the ground as if ashamed. Cory looked at Dean. "We don't mean it," he said. "All the kids at school call each other names like fag, faggot, or bull dyke, it's just the way it is."

"Just because everyone does it, doesn't make it right," Dean said. "Maybe instead of following the crowd, you should try to rise above it. Be the three kids at school who don't do that. Be the three kids at school that are better than that. I'm not saying that every time you hear other kids do it, you have to run over and make a stand, I know that's tough. But just don't go along with them. If they say things like that and you can, walk away from them. Don't encourage them to keep doing it. Don't do anything to make them think that you approve."

"But what about Marcus and Javier?" Cory asked. "They do it all the time."

"Three against two," Dean said. "Since they're part of your crowd, just tell them you would rather not hear them talking like that. You don't have to make a big deal out of it, just tell them you don't find it funny." He looked at Sam, who had stopped staring at the ground and was looking at him. "Hell, Sam, you're an expert eye roller. Roll your eyes at them, they'll get the point."

Sam smiled. "Okay. I can do that."

Cory nodded. "Okay, I'll try too."

"Good." Dean nodded.

"So," Cory asked, looking at Neil, then the ring, then Dean. "Uh, what are you guys doing?"

"My dad was showing me some wrestling stuff," Neil said, and you could hear behind the casual tone he was using, there was a lot of bragging. "He showed me how to do his old finisher."

"Really?" The envy in Cory's voice was almost palatable. "Can you show me?"

"We can show you the move," Dean said. "But, I can't train you to do it, because it involves learning some basics first and I'm assuming you've never learned to do the basics, right?"

Both children nodded, confirming that their wrestling knowledge came only from watching.

"Okay," Dean said. "Get in the ring and Neil and I will show the move to you. Then, maybe we can train you how to run the ropes. That's the first thing you need to learn."

"Thank you!" Sam and Cory spoke in unison as they climbed up and into the ring. Dean ruffled Neil's hair and the two of them took their places to show Cory and Sam what Neil had learned about wrestling that afternoon.

The End.

* * *

**Author's notes: I know this might have gotten a bit "preachy" but I think it's something that needs to be said. I think Dean and Cinnamon would want their son to be the kid who did not make fun of people and think the worst insult in the world would be to accuse someone of being homosexual. **

**Special thanks to: **

**Everyone who reviewed:**** Those who have accounts here were thanked with responses. Those who do not are mentioned below. But really, guys, you're fantastic. I can't even begin to explain what reviews do for me. They keep me going. Lauraxxx gets a lot of credit for this story, but I'd say at least 20% goes to people who actually take the time to review, who take the time to let me know that you enjoyed my stories. It means the world to me, because you are the ones that understand that this is a give and take situation and it isn't fair to constantly take without giving something back. If it weren't for you guys, I would be keeping my stories on my hard drive and I'd never know if I had any talent or not. So, from the bottom of my heart, thank you! **

**Nancy****: ****First, I am so glad you left this note to let me know your son is doing better, I've been concerned. And six months old? Oh wow, that's a lot to put on his plate and yours. I hope his recovery continues to go well and that this will soon fade into a distant memory. I'm glad though, that this is something he won't remember, but it still was very hard on you. Thank you for taking the time to review when no one would have faulted you for not doing so. **

**I'm glad you like the story too. Lauraxxx gets 60% of the credit for this story even existing. But I do admit, I had a lot of fun writing about Neil in the ring with his dad. I hope you liked the second part as much, too. I do plan on writing more Neil/Dean/Cinnamon stories and I am hoping to do one with them on the road the summer after they get married. I would like to try to finish my big project first, but you never know when an idea might hit me in the face and demand it gets written,**

**I'm glad you liked my little argument at the end and didn't take offense to it. As I said earlier, I am beyond impressed and almost in tears that you took the time to leave reviews with your son so sick. No one (unless they have no heart) would ever think to fault you if you hadn't, but yet you still did and that is just... touching and sweet. Thank you. **

**Beadsoap:**** I hope all is going well for you. Thank you so much for your review. I'm glad you like the Cinnamon series. For what was supposed to be a one shot story, it sure has caught on. I hope you like part two of the story too. I do hope to write at least one story of Dean and Neil on the road, where Dean gets to show his WWE buddies what his ten year old son can do. I think it would make a pretty cute story. **

* * *

**This is normally the part where I'd put up my counter argument to arguments I've heard from real life RODR's (Read only, don't review) as to why they treat fanfiction like it's an endless buffet of free entertainment to them, and expect everyone else to do the work. **

**However, my last argument for reviewing upset someone so bad that she felt the need to blast me out for having the nerve to try to pressure her into leaving a review. She said some things that were out and out lies about me and my reading/reviewing habits, and she also did this anon, so I have to put my response here. If you really dislike drama, please feel free to stop reading now, I completely understand.**

**Madison: ** Since you took the time to write me a very long rant and either do not have an account or decided not to sign in to do it, I can't have this discussion with you in private. So, we'll take it here.

To make things easy for Madison and my readers who wish to follow along, this is how it goes.

_Parts that are written in italics are Madison's "review" to me. I feel obligated to copy it to here, so I can answer each point individually, because Madison has some very strong feelings about things. _

**Parts in Bold are from the original author's notes that Madison is commenting on (The original rant can be found at the end of Part 1 of this story, if you would care to read/reread it.)**

Parts written normally are my responses.

Also, since Madison is an anon reviewer, the only assumptions I can make about her are based only on the "review" she left me. So, Madison? Please don't come back on me and say, "But I review a million people's stories under another name!" I don't know that. All I know is our interaction. I've never had anyone called "Madison" leave a review on my stuff. And since when reviewing anon you can pick any damned name you want, I have no proof that you've ever reviewed anyone elses stuff on this site either. So this response is based entirely on your review to me.

Okay, let's go!

_Hi, _

Well, hello, "Madison," nice of you to drop by.I hope we shall have a pleasant and harmonious exchange of words today.

_I have been reading the story for awhile and is it rude to say that I did not like your story simply because I just don't like it?_

I'm not quite sure what you are saying with this sentence. Are you saying you don't like my stories? Okay, that's your right, although I find it curious that it took you until now to figure out you don't like it. And that you obviously read it down to the very end to find my argument. Why are you reading my stories if you don't like them? That seems stupid. One chapter, sure... maybe even one story, but the Cinnamon Saga has a lot of stories. Did it really take you this many to figure out you don't like them? How strange.

Or, are you asking me if it's rude to just say, "I don't like it" and that's all? If it's the second, yes, that's rude. Negative reviews are another topic all together and I addressed that at the very beginning of my argument when I wrote:

**I am aware that most of my arguments are based on if you like the story. Negative reviews are another matter entirely and ****I will tackle them another time.****So, for now, all arguments will be based on the idea that you like the story. You may not be in love with the story, but you like it and you read it whenever it's updated.**

I don't think I need to revisit this, do I? I mean, you made your point and I read it, so this must just be a fluke that you mention negative reviews when my entire rant was not talking about leaving negative reviews. Whew, glad we got this issue resolved and we won't have to revisit it again. I sure would hate to have to keep cutting and pasting the same thing over and over again.

_Since you constantly trying to assure readers to leave any review so I would leave one. _

Really? How nice of you, and I really appreciate it. I'm just glad it's not an angry ranting flame where you completely misunderstand what I was saying and keep making the same point over and over again, a point that had nothing to do with my original argument, because you called it a review. So, I look forward to the review part of this. You do know that reviews are not flaming rants about author's notes, right? I mean, there's nothing wrong with ranting about my author's notes, that's fine. But you specifically called this a review. So, let's see when the review part comes.

_Everyone has different taste of reading materials so don't assume they all would like your story. _

I never did assume that everyone likes my story. Again, I refer you to what was posted at the top of my rant:

**So, for now, all arguments will be based on the idea that you like the story. **

If someone clicked on my story, read a few paragraphs and didn't like the story, I would assume they would say nothing, unless they wanted to leave a negative review. Again, I said negative reviews are a subject for another rant. But, I also believe that on almost every story, every chapter of every story, I have told my audience that I am not adverse to negative reviews. I believe I've said things such as, "How will I improve if I don't know what I'm doing wrong?" That should tell you that I'm not going to freak out because someone doesn't like my story. But again, my entire argument was written assuming the reader read the top of my argument which said:

**So, for now, all arguments will be based on the idea that you like the story. **

_I believe there were many readers like me who read a story, found they did not like it and just skip away rather than to drop pipebomb on the author, 'hey your story sucks. I don't like it because I just don't like it.' Do you really wanna hear that kind of stuff?_

Are we visiting this again? Darn it. Okay, let me remind you again of what I wrote at the top of the rant:

**So, for now, all arguments will be based on the idea that you like the story.**

Apparently, I didn't make this clear enough. Had I known, I would have repeated this at the top of every paragraph I wrote. But, I thought that people who would comment on my argument would actually, you know, read it? I did address this twice, actually. At the end of my rant, I wrote:

**So, if you are one of those people who can't bring yourself to say anything negative and see **_**nothing**_** positive about a story, and don't think anyone should waste their time reading it, you should **_**not**_** leave a review.**

_And it was interesting that you constantly asking for reviews but I barely noticed you yourself leave a review on other stories._

I don't? Seriously?Yes, I do. Do I read thousands of stories on this site? No, I do not. Why? Because I don't have the time. You see, I won't read stories unless I have the time to review them, even if it's just to say, "Hey, good story!" If you don't see a review from me, it's because I have not read the story. OR, instead of giving a public review, I have chosen to message the author in private instead. I don't do the "review by PM very often, but I _have_ done it. So, yes, I do leave reviews. Do I leave negative reviews? Well again, that's a rant for another time, but in a nutshell, no I don't, unless the author has made it clear in his/her notes that he/she is not adverse to receiving them. Something I addressed in the original rant:

**So, if you are one of those people who can't bring yourself to say anything negative and see **_**nothing**_** positive about a story, and don't think anyone should waste their time reading it, you should **_**not**_** leave a review.**

Then again, if I don't like a story, I rarely read beyond the first three or four paragraphs and it wouldn't be fair to write a negative review on only a part of the story, would it? I honestly think that if you had read this and the beginning where I addressed the issue of negative reviews and wrote:

**So, for now, all arguments will be based on the idea that you like the story.**

Your rant would either be much shorter, or much different. But, we'll continue. Hey, when's the review part coming? Because all I have right now is an angry ranty response to my argument. But, I have faith! You must know what a review is, because you're so smart you claim to know everything about me, like why I write, how many stories a day I read, and how many reviews I don't write. Surely someone with such amazing mental powers knows what a review is.

_Sure, you had your list of favorite stories, but only on that stories you like. See, even you had taste in reading and surely there must be other stories you skip away from reading, right? _

Okay, I'm confused again sorry. Do you think I have read every single story in this archive? No, I haven't. When would I have time to write, or go to work or do anything if I read every story on this archive? Even if the only stories I read were wrestling stories, that would be an awful lot of stories I'd have to read.

Or, maybe you're implying that the only stories I've reviewed are on my favorite's list. Nope, not true either. There are a few one shots I've read and commented on and not put on my favorite's list, simply because they weren't my favorites and being one shots, I didn't have to worry that they would be updated. I even have a few stories I follow and haven't favored, again, because they aren't my favorites. This isn't to say I didn't like them, I did. And, I've reviewed them, too. I even have stories I love, I've reviewed, but that I haven't favored, because if you favor the author, then everything they publish you'll be notified of. So yeah, it's lazy on my part, but I figure the reviews are telling them I like their story, better than a favor/follow button. But, if you want to chew me out for not clicking on the follow/favor option, then you do have a point and I will try in the future to remember to do that. Thank you for your gentle nudge to remind me of that oversight. Your kind, thoughtful, diplomatic ways are such a joy to my heart.

Maybe you're saying I think people should leave reviews on stories they haven't read? That's just silly. If I "skip" away from reading a story, I don't feel obligated to leave a review. I even said that if you don't take one of Sausage Lady's samples, then you don't have to feel obligated to do anything:

**-of course if you don't take a sausage, you don't owe Sausage lady anything.**

_Or if you open the story and you be like, this story doesn't interest me. Right? _

Again:

**So, for now, all arguments will be based on the idea that you like the story.**

And also:

**So, if you are one of those people who can't bring yourself to say anything negative and see **_**nothing**_** positive about a story, and don't think anyone should waste their time reading it, you should **_**not**_** leave a review. But if you think the story is worth reading, say****something**

I don't know how much clearer I could have made it. The entire original argument, was based on if you readers should review stories that you liked. Not stories that you didn't like. Yet, your entire so-called "Review" (which is actually a flaming rant isn't it Madison? Can we be honest about that now? Or do I have to keep pretending it's a review?) seems to come down to, "But what if I don't like a story!" And I made it pretty clear if you don't like a story that it was an entirely different matter when I wrote:

**So, if you are one of those people who can't bring yourself to say anything negative and see **_**nothing**_** positive about a story, and don't think anyone should waste their time reading it, you should **_**not**_** leave a review. **

What else could I have said to make you understand that stories readers don't like were not the subject of my argument? I wrote something at the beginning, and the end of the argument. Madison, I can't come to your house and force you to read all of the argument, that just isn't possible!

_If you are pressing readers for review, then you yourself are also obliged to leave a review on other stories, which I noticed you yourself barely did. Is that fair to other readers and authors?_

Of course I'm obligated, and I do. Again, have you looked at every single story on this site to see what I have/have not reviewed? I find that hard to believe. In fact, looking at the time I published the story to the time it took you to post your little denouncement, I know it would be impossible. So, what you are doing, is making assumptions about me and about my reading and reviewing habits. No, more than that, you are telling lies about me. And they ARE lies, Madison. Make no mistake, lies. Even if there is one story I've read and not reviewed (I can't think of one if there is, but it could be possible. We lost internet a few times in the last few months, so maybe a review or two got lost then) you are saying I barely review. I would like to ask you where you got that proof from, but I won't bother. Because it's a nasty, mean spirited, lie. It's something you pulled out of your ass in an attempt to slander me to my readers.

Now, I do admit there are two stories on my favorite's list that I have not reviewed ON THIS SITE. These are stories I first read over at AO3 and I hit the Kudo's button on AO3 site and left a comment over there. I do plan, someday to reread them on this site and review them again here too, but since I have read and reviewed them somewhere else, I feel perfectly justified in putting that on the back burner. The author knows how I feel about her stories. And I don't understand why that's any of your business, but since you like to point fingers at me and accuse me of things, I guess I have to defend myself. Such a pity you'll likely not even read it, because you have a habit of missing the point.

_Don't tell me you are reviewing because they reviewed yours, because I checked some of your reviewer's work, and you did not leave a review on all of them. You just picked the ones that really caught your interest. Oh wait, that was exactly how readers of FF picked their favorite story to leave review on._

Who said I read every story that every person who has reviewed my stories have written themselves? Did I say that I had? I haven't. Again, stop telling lies about me. And yes, you are telling these things as facts about me, that are not true. Saying things about someone that are not true and stating them as facts is lying. So, cut the crap, Madison.

I didn't think I would have to explain this, but apparently, since I rubbed a nerve raw on you, and you feel the only way to make yourself feel better is to accuse me of things. Let me tell you what I do when someone who has stories on this site reviews my work. WHEN I HAVE TIME, I go and check them out. It seems fair, right? And, I figure if they like my stuff, we must share some things in common so I'm more likely to like their story than I am by just clicking on any random story in the front page. I go and find a one shot story to read, if the author has written one. If I read the first couple paragraphs and don't like it, I don't leave a review. And again, I will remind you of what I said in the original argument that you are attacking:

**So, for now, all arguments will be based on the idea that you like the story.**

And at the end:

**So, if you are one of those people who can't bring yourself to say anything negative and see **_**nothing**_** positive about a story, and don't think anyone should waste their time reading it, you should **_**not**_** leave a review. **

But, let's say I do like that story. I do leave a review on it. Then, if I have time, I go on to their most recent story. If it's a multiple chapter saga, I read it. In some cases, I don't leave a review on every single chapter, but I do leave them on many of them. Then I at least follow the story so I can keep up with it. Chances are, I will continue to read any further stories they write, but as for getting to the backlog? That's something that might happen in the future, if I have time.

So, in other words, Madison, you're telling lies about me. You're saying that every single author whose reviewed my works I have read every single one of theirs. I have never said that, ever, so why are you saying I did? Again, you're giving out facts about me that are actually things YOU have made up. Which makes them lies. Now, why don't I read everything these authors have written? Again, TIME. Because... as I wrote before, with real life and my own writing, time is limited and, unlike you, I will not read a story unless I have time to also leave a review. I consider taking the time to leave a review, as important as reading the story. If, because of this, I only have time to read two stories a week instead of two hundred? So be it. I would rather only read two stories and leave reviews to encourage the authors than to read two hundred stories and take the attitude of, "Well, the only thing that matters is that I read them, not that I review them." Lately, I have so many multiple chapter sagas that are being updated so regularly, I don't have time to add new stories to my list. Do I hope to some day read every story these writers have written? I do. But some of these people do a lot of writing and it takes a lot for me to keep up with their current stuff, never mind the stuff they wrote before I was writing/reading myself. Again, since I won't read a story without leaving a review, I have to figure in the review time as well, so no I don't have hours and hours to read stories.

Trust me, Madison. I practice what I preach. I admit, not all my reviews are long (but some are) Some are quite popular with the authors too. I would point them out, but I don't want to do that without the author's permission. If you go looking through my favorites, you'll see some of them. Some stories inspire long reviews (action stories seem to be the easiest to inspire long reviews) some don't. The size of the review doesn't indicate my like of a story. But trust me, if I have read the story to the end of what is written, or even if I only read one chapter and haven't had the time to read the other chapters, you will see I have left a review.

_Lets say that there were 20 authors like you pressing readers for review uploading 20 stories per day, so every reader was obliged to leave a review on each one since they came with free samples of sausage (your analogy.)_

First, no, that totally is not my analogy, that's you being an idiot. I said the stories were like sausages. Cut the attempt at cheap insults, thank you. It's bad enough you tell lies about me.

Anyway, let's go on_. _First, no. My analogy did not say these stories came with a sausage sample. I said let's say the stories are the sausage samples. Are you saying the writer owes you something else besides the story itself? Because that comes across as greedy. Oh wait, you are greedy, at least when it comes to fanfiction. You think it's perfectly okay for you to take as much as you want and never to give back. So, I'm not surprised that you not only expect a story from these authors, but you expect something else from them too. And I even know what it is you expect, you expect them to never ever prod at you for reviews. You expect us to sit by quietly and let you enjoy all your free reading without ever even attempting to make you feel bad for taking and taking and never giving.

_You can't expect a reader to read 20 stories a day and leave review on each stories because they owe the author 'a sausage' (like your analogy)._

WTF? A story is a sausage, a review is like saying, "Thank you." What part of that can't you grasp? And, why must you read twenty stories a day? Did someone put a gun to your head? Why can't you read fifteen and take that extra time to review at least SOME of the stories you're reading. You seem to be saying that it isn't fair for me to expect reviews because it cuts into your valuable time stuffing yourself at the all you can read fanfiction buffet. You read twenty stories a day and never review? What do you give to the fanfiction community that you take from so greedily? I'd like to know. What's your contribution to a community that works hard and helps each other? Are you a beta reader? Are you a writer? We know you're not a reviewer. Or if you have left reviews, no one has seen them.

_Even you yourself won't bother to review the 20 stories you read on FF per day. _

Okay, gloves off. Who the fuck told you I read twenty stories a day on FF? Again with the lies. I don't. I never said I did. I don't have time to read twenty stories a day. I do have to work, I do have various domestic tasks, I do want to write. So, my reading time is limited. Even if I didn't leave reviews, I wouldn't have time to read twenty stories a day. If I didn't leave reviews I might have time to read 5-8 stories or chapters per day. Add the time to do reviews and I've knocked that down to 2-5. And some days I don't have the time to read anything at all.

Again, I practice what I preach. If I liked it enough to read the whole thing, I have reviewed it. 

_I would like to ask you, if you come across a story you just don't like, would you have the guts to tell the author so?_

Oh for Pete's sake, would you stop flogging this dead horse? Didn't I address this? Wait, I did! At the beginning of my argument I wrote this:

**So, for now, all arguments will be based on the idea that you like the story.**

And at the end, I wrote this:

**So, if you are one of those people who can't bring yourself to say anything negative and see **_**nothing**_** positive about a story, and don't think anyone should waste their time reading it, you should **_**not**_** leave a review.  
**

Is this your only defense to my entire argument, Madison? "I won't leave reviews on any stories because I don't like some stories?" Or am I misunderstanding something, because that's what I'm hearing here. And that's a dumb argument. What about the stories you liked? Do you have an obligation to review them? Yeah, honestly, I feel you do. Can I force you? No, of course not. But, just as you have the right to make your stand (which apparently is normally, silence and by god, I wish you'd stuck to that) I have the right to point out that I think your stand is invalid. And make no mistake, Madison, you do make a stand on every story you read and don't review. Silence speaks as loudly as words. The message you're sending is, "You are here for my amusement, but I owe you nothing." And with this rant, you're further saying, "Even though I read your stories, you STILL owe me more than that. You owe it to me to never tell me that I should leave reviews. You owe it to me to always always always treat me, the reader that won't say thank you, with gentle kid gloves because I read your stories. You have no right to offend me."

And, so far (because I'll bet you're keeping score) you have said nothing to convince me that I'm wrong for my opinions. In fact, you've actually served to reenforce my beliefs that most people who are RODR (read only, don't review) are a pretty selfish lot that not only want to be able to read whatever they want whenever they want without ever giving back to the community that makes this possible, but they also want to make sure they are never called out on their rude, inconsiderate behavior, because if they are, then they are going to blast that writer out.

_I think it was not fair for you to pressure every single readers that clicking on your story in leaving a review._

Well, considering that you RODR's don't exactly tell me who you are, if I'm going to pressure any of you into leaving reviews, I have to do it in a way that all my readers can see it. Or, should I next time go, "Hey, every reader BUT Madison should leave a review!" Because I get what you're saying here, you're not really upset that I'm pressuring every reader to leave a review, you're upset that I'm pressuring YOU. You couldn't give a flying fuck in a rolling doughnut about any other RODR, all that matters is you.

_I know you write for feedback or whatever, _

First, I don't write for feedback. I post for feedback. I write for me. Don't get snippy. If you're going to take offense to something I write, the least you can do is actually read it before you go off on me. Oh wait, you've already proven you don't read, you just skim and look for chit to bother you.

_but you can't expect 20 readers to review on each of your story just because they clicked on your story. _

If they merely clicked on my story, read a bit of it and said, "This isn't my type of story" then I don't expect them to leave a review. Can I make it any plainer? Apparently, not.

If they read the story and liked it? No, I can't expect it, because there are too many Madisons in this world who not only won't review, but get all pissy if a writer has the nerve to say, "Hey, maybe you ought to review, if you like a story!"

And why do you keep bringing up numbers like it makes a difference? If a hundred people or ten people review my work, it doesn't change how much time it took each one of them to make that review. You keep talking like "Well, you're expecting twenty people!" like that makes a difference. Would it be okay to expect one? Ten? Oh I got it, how about if I pressure everyone BUT you, Madison? Isn't that what you really want? Okay, Madison, in the spirit of indulging your self centered greedy little heart, I hereby tell you that you are under no obligation to read and review my stories ever again. Because, Madison, I don't want to put any pressure on you in your perfect little world there. Your world that is so awesome that my having the nerve to suggest that maybe you ought to show some consideration once in awhile, is enough to messy up your day. So, while I hope you still consider reviewing those authors you like, I am telling you that you never ever ever have to even think about reviewing one of my stories, ever again.

_The readers are simply readers, they were not review machine programmed to leave a review on every story they clicked on just because someone with a lots of free time cooking a sausage for them._

Wow, Nice comeback, implying that we writers have no lives! It's nice to see you paid attention in "Horrifying insults of the Internet 101!" "Lots of free time" I'm surprised you didn't fall to the normal insult and say, "Unlike you, I have a life!" Actually, I have very limited free time, so nice try, but no dice. And again, no one is forcing you to read anyone's story. The writer puts it up. You make the choice to read it. You decided that being able to read twenty stories a day is more important than only reading 5-15 stories per day, and leaving reviews on them.

And really, to show minimal politeness is turning you into a machine? Saying things like, "Nice story," and "I liked it," is horribly time consuming and unfair and treating readers like machines? The whole point of my rant was that it doesn't matter the size of the review, that while longer IS better, even the shortest of reviews is appreciated too.

_If they open a story, they did not like it, it was up to them to walk out without telling the author, I just don't like your story._

*Sigh*

**Negative reviews are another matter entirely and I will tackle them another time. So, for now, ****all arguments will be based on the idea that you like the story.**** You may not be in love with the story, but you like it and you read it whenever it's updated. **

And:

**So, if you are one of those people who can't bring yourself to say anything negative and see **_**nothing**_** positive about a story, and don't think anyone should waste their time reading it, you should **_**not**_** leave a review. **

_It was just my opinion, feel free to bash me in response after this, because you are the one that asked for a REVIEW._

Oooh, nice try! Good effort at trying to make me feel guilty if I respond in anything other than, "I'm sorry, I'm wrong!" I'm impressed. It's still a fail, but I'm very impressed by the effort.

First of all, again, this isn't a review. It's a flaming rant about my opinion. Let's not mince words here, Madison. You flamed me. Calling it a review doesn't make it a review. You insulted me personally, and you lied about my reading and reviewing habits.

Let's get to the irony of this. In the time it took you to write this review, you could have reviewed a lot of stories. Especially if you just went with, "Good story" or, "Liked it" or, "Looking forward to your next chapter" But, you're way too busy for that right? You have such a busy life, to expect you to thank these writers providing you with all this free entertainment is too much for you to fit into your busy schedule. I mean, you're not a writer, we writers have all the time in the world, according to you. You're a reader! Your time is valuable, and quite limited. Unless, of course, one of us writers steps out of the subservient role you want us in and have the nerve to call you RODR's out on your behavior. Then you have all the time in the world to write an anger filled, insulting diatribe. Limited time is not your real excuse for not leaving reviews, is it Madison? The real reason you don't leave reviews is because you just don't want to. Because when it comes to fanfiction, you are a taker. And, well you know, I can't stop you. But I'm not going to stop defending my position that yeah, it would be damned nice if some of you takers would give a fraction of what you take back to the community. And if that puts you in a tizzy, so be it.

And yes, in the time I wrote this, I could have read at least one story and written a review, but, I felt I had to address this, and in the future, any stories I read I will review, just as I have been.

One more thing, Madison, I want to repeat something I've said on both of the rants I've written so far:

**I know I can't force you to read this and I'm sure most lurkers won't, but I can convince _one_ person who was lurking to step forward and review (or, if on AO3, at least press the damned Kudos button) then I've done good. If I can convince that _same_ person to review someone elses work that they've been reading and enjoying as well, then I'll consider this a major success.**

I'm deadly serious about this. Half the reason why I'm doing these rants is because I've found some really fine stories on this site that are not getting the reviews they deserve. Would I love more reviews? Sure I would. But just as much, I would like to see some of these "Unsung greats" get the reviews they should be getting.

So, I understand if you're pissed off at me and will now never dream of leaving me a review on my stories, that's cool. To be honest, I don't respect you very much and doubt if your reviews would mean much to me anyway. But please, if I did make _anything i_nside of you twinge, _any_ part of you think that "You know, maybe I should leave a review at least once in awhile," then _please_, leave a review on another writer's work that you enjoy. Show them that you like what they're doing.

EVERY argument I am writing are things that your fellow RODR's have said when asked why they do not review. Do I think there are valid reasons not to review? Yes, I do. I'm not going to address them, because they're valid resons. But, I think there are a lot of excuses said because people try to make themselves feel better for something that part of them knows is wrong. If you really and truly feel that you do not have to leave reviews, and your reasons for not leaving them are justified, then why do my words upset you? Why did you even briefly skim them looking for stuff to be upset about read them? If you are absolutely sure you are in the right to read and never review, then wouldn't you just ignore what I wrote and go on?

To any reader who followed this to the end?

Peace Out, take carefully

Willow


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer Dean Ambrose, Roman Reigns, Seth Rollins, and the many other wrestlers in this story are the property of the WWE and/or the actors / sports entertainers / superstars that portray them. This story is intended as tribute only and is not intended to infringe on any copyrights. **

**Original characters are the property of me, and the children of my own imagination. Any resemblance to any real persons, living or dead is purely coincidental. **

**Dedications are at the end of this part, instead of the beginning.**

* * *

**And In This Corner  
**_Part One_

"Seth!"

The man with the dual colored hair paused in the hall and turned around abruptly. He had been walking past one of the temporary backstage offices, heading to catering when his boss, Hunter had called out to him. _So much for lunch_, he thought, knowing sometimes being stopped by the boss meant a meeting of some type that often interfered with any other plans he might have. But, that's the price you paid sometimes, for being one of the top stars. Seth walked back to the open door and put his head in. "Yeah, boss?"

Hunter looked up from the desk where he was sitting, a cell phone in his ear. "Were you heading to catering?" he asked.

"Actually, I was," Seth admitted, walking into the room. "Can I get you something?

"Yeah, Ambrose," Hunter said. He held up one finger, indicating Seth should wait and turned his attention back to the phone. "So, when? Okay. Yeah, that's fine. Yeah, I'll notify everyone." He pulled the phone away from his ear, looked at the front of it, then back to Seth. "Tell him he needs to come here in half an hour, okay?"

"Sure," Seth said. "Can I tell him what for, if he asks?"

"If he asks, tell him it's because his boss _says_ so," Hunter said firmly, but there was a glint in his eyes that indicated Dean wasn't in trouble, but that he was not going to give away anything to Seth, that this was between him and Dean, at least for now.

Before Seth was out of the room, Hunter was back on the phone. Seth shrugged and headed to catering.

* * *

When he got to the catering area, he saw a group of ten or so wrestlers and divas standing three deep around one of the tables. Standing by the table was Dean, which didn't surprise Seth. Sometimes Dean could be moody and wanted to keep to himself, but other times, lately especially, he was cheerful and outgoing. And when Dean was cheerful and outgoing, people gravitated to him, because he was funny and interesting. As Seth moved closer, he saw Dean had a metal cup, about the size of a travel mug, In his hands he held another travel mug, a bit thinner, but with a lid.

"It's been three minutes!" Nattie called out.

"Okay then." Dean put the cup with the lid into the other cup and began pressing down. "Look how easy this is. You don't have to force it, you just gently push it down." Dean looked around quickly and realizing the room was full of nothing but adults, added, "Like making love for the first time, do it slow and easy." Everyone laughed, and Dean finished pressing the one cup into the other. "And that's it."

"But that's an awful lot of bother for coffee," Alicia pointed out. "Time this, press that. There's always coffee around."

"I know," Dean said, "Which brings us to he second half of our experiment here." He looked at Roman, "Is the pot ready?"

Roman held up the coffee pot, which Dean had earlier taken over and brewed a pot of coffee. There were several paper cups on the table and Dean started pouring small amounts of coffee into half them. "Okay, try the coffee," he suggested. Every coffee drinker, and most were, took a small cup and drank. "Really good, right?"

Everyone nodded. "Wow, this is a lot better than the coffee we usually get in catering," Dolph remarked. "If they had this around, I might become a coffee addict."

"Yeah, that's Cinnamon's own, personal blend," Dean said, proudly. "She used to work in a coffee shop and she's a bear for good coffee. She's made friends with the owner of a small coffee shop in West Virginia and he sells her small amounts of different beans. He's even sold her green coffee beans that she roasts herself in a popcorn maker. Yeah, that's right, a popcorn maker. But she has her own blend. This has got Arabica in it, Kona, and a few other types of coffee beans. It's her creation. Pretty good, right?"

Again, the crowd agreed it was good coffee. Dean nodded and took the travel mug and started pouring small amounts from the mug into the remaining paper cups. "I can't give as much with this, because this only makes about twelve ounces, but I can let everyone have a sip. I'll make more if you need a better taste, I'll just need another five minutes or so, to make it, but still, try this."

Everyone took the small sample of coffee, no more than an ounce or so, and took a sip. "It tastes different," Nattie said. "Richer, like it has more..substance in it. I can't explain, but it tastes like a... more well-rounded, better version of the first coffee."

"It's the same thing!" Dean exclaimed, as if he was imparting the wisdom of the ages on the crowd. "The _same_ coffee! It's just one was drip brewed and the other was done with this." He held up the travel mug. "Cinnamon got this for me as a gift the last time I visited her. She gave me some of her coffee too. All in vacuum packed little one dose bags. You get used to this and you will never want to drink the sludge that catering always makes for us."

Luke Harper shook his head. "You can't expect catering to make French Press coffee for all of us, that would be way too much work to make coffee in that fashion for everyone."

Dean frowned. "Well, I was thinking maybe we could demand every catering company have at least two baristas and a full coffee bar. C'mon a lot of companies have something like that now, why shouldn't we?"

"Because nothing is free," Roman pointed out. "To do that will cost money and they'll pull the money from us, one way or another."

"But it's worth it!" Dean exclaimed, his voice earnest as if this might be the most important thing in the world. "I mean, imagine if you could get coffee like this, every day? Aw, c'mon!" He looked around and realized that while everyone was in agreement that his coffee was excellent, they weren't ready to storm the gates in search of baristas and a traveling coffee house to come with them on the road. "Okay, but will you at least back me if I ask Trips if we can at least get a better quality of coffee than this sludge?" He pointed to the automatic coffee pots that were set up for people to help themselves. "At least a good coffee shop blend, maybe a dark roast, medium roast, and a light roast? Hey, did you guys know that light roasts have more caffeine in them than dark roasts? Isn't that weird?"

"Speaking of Hunter," Seth said, speaking out for the first time. "He wants to see you in about-" He fished out his phone and looked at the time, "-twenty minutes."

Dean frowned. "Did he say why?"

Seth shook his head.

"Did he seem upset?"

Again, Seth shook his head.

"What exactly did he say?"

Seth thought. "He asked if I was going to catering, I asked if he wanted anything and he said he wanted to see you in half an hour. That was ten minutes ago, so I figure you have twenty minutes."

Dean frowned as he thought about what it would be that his boss would want from him. "He didn't seem mad, right?"

"Nope, not mad," Seth said. "But firm, like you'd better not argue or debate, you'd better be there."

"Hm.." He looked around at the group still gathered around the table. "Who wants to go with me, we can ask about the coffee, too."

"No thanks," Dolph said, laughing. "Boss is asking for you? You're on your own." More than a few people joined in with him.

"Yeah, yeah, leave me to fight the coffee battle on my own," Dean muttered. "Roman, do we have any hot water left?"

Roman nodded, picking up a thermal carafe that Dean had gotten catering to fill with hot water for him. "This still feels pretty full and the lid is on, so it should still be hot, why?"

"Because if I'm going to face the boss, I want some more coffee," Dean said.

* * *

Dean was knocking on the door to the boss's temporary office nineteen minutes later. In truth, he wasn't too nervous, he hadn't really done anything wrong lately. He was actually hoping this might be about his request for time off in June. He just wanted two days, two days he could know about in advance, so he and Cinnamon could get married. They had been discussing it, and God Bless Cinnamon, she was not crying and moaning for the dream wedding that would take months to plan, she was willing to accept a simple ceremony with a JP. But, even for that you needed some time to plan and a date to fix it all on. Feeling as if he was on a bit of a "naughty" list over his long leave when Neil was injured, Dean had told Hunter and Stephanie that he needed one of the last two weekends in June off. They could pick which weekend it was, but he just needed to know as soon as he possibly could. They hadn't told him yet and he knew Cinnamon was getting anxious about it, just as he was.

"Come in," Hunter called out.

Dean opened the door and walked in. "Seth said you wanted to see me?"

Hunter nodded and although he looked serious, Dean saw a glint in his eyes that he wasn't sure was a good thing or not. Hunter was dying to share something with him, but Dean had no clue what it was. "There are a couple of fans who want to spend some time with you before the show, and I took the liberty of saying you would be happy to."

"Really?" Dean frowned. He didn't mind meeting fans, but it was awhile until the show, and that was a long time to entertain people. He just hoped they weren't idiots or hyper-fans, or this would be a very, very, long afternoon. "Where are they?"

"Security is bringing them," Hunter said. "They'll be here any minute."

"Oh, okay," Dean said, "Uhm.. why me? Are they big fans of mine?"

"The biggest," Hunter said and Dean could see that gleam in his eyes get brighter. "They assured me that you were their absolute favorite wrestler of all time and that no one else would do."

"Really? Not even Roman?" If they loved Roman too, it was likely they were women, likely even _hot_ women. And while he would never cheat on Cinnamon, the idea of walking around with some hot women was a lot more appealing than walking around with a couple of creepy dudes as some of his fans were wont to be.

"Not even Roman, although they did say they liked him. But really, they were _quite_ insistent that it be you."

"Oh." Dean wanted to ask a million more questions, like what made these people so important that Hunter would decide that he should assign Dean as their personal backstage babysitter. It wasn't something that happened very often to any wrestler, which told Dean these were people of some importance. _ Make a __W__ish kids?_ he thought, then dismissed it. If they were Make a Wish kids, Hunter would have told him immediately, and given him a fact sheet about the child or children, letting Dean know what he was getting in for with the general health of the child. While all the Superstars were used to dealing with these kids in various stages of poor health, it was good to know what you were getting into so you wouldn't be shocked. Most of the Make A Wish kids didn't want your pity or your shock, they wanted to talk to you, to see everything, to be kids back stage at the WWE. This was their chance of escapism too, and everyone at the WWE did their best to make sure the experience was as enjoyable as possible. He was about to ask Hunter if he could tell him anything about these people, when he heard Stephanie's voice in the hall.

"Thank you, Dave," she said. Dean thought it likely that it was Dave, one of the security people she was talking to. Certainly not Dave Batista, that man hadn't been around in ages. "I'll take them in." A brief pause and then the sound of a hand turning the door knob. "He's right in here."

Dean turned as the door opened. He barely had a chance to register who he was seeing when someone shot into the room and threw himself at Dean. "Dad!"

"Neil!" Dean caught his son in his arms and hugged him tightly, instantly both shocked and thrilled. "Wow! what are you doing here?"

"Mid term report cards came out," Cinnamon explained, walking over and hugging him, even as he was still hugging Neil, and giving him a kiss on the cheek. "Your son got all A's, so I asked him what he wanted as a reward. He told me the only thing he wanted was to see his Dad. Since it's a vacation week, and since Pennsylvania isn't that far from home, we decided to come and see you."

"Wow," Dean said, still in a stunned state where he half expected Neil and Cinnamon to vanish and to wake up with Hunter telling him that he was going to be in a rivalry with Luke Harper. Nothing against Luke, but he didn't think it would work well for either of them, which of course meant that someone was going to insist on it, eventually. "So, are you here for a couple days?"

"Yes, at least," Cinnamon said. "Mr. Helmsley says you're here for Raw tonight and to tape Smackdown and Main Event tomorrow. Then you have some house shows and media engagements in Virginia. We might be able to stay with you for a day or so in Virginia, then we can head home."

"Wow," Dean once again said. He was aware that he sounded like an idiot, but he was still in shock that they were here; his fiancee and his boy. He had been looking forward to having a whole summer with them joining him on the road, but he wasn't even sure he'd get to see them until the wedding day, and here they were, for at least a couple days. As his brain struggled to absorb it, the reason why Neil had gotten his wish came back to him and he focused on Neil. "All A's?"

Neil nodded. "Mid semester honor roll. I got One A-, one straight A's, the rest A+"

Dean looked at Hunter and Stephanie. "My kid is brilliant," he said, unable to keep a little bit of smugness from creeping into his voice. "He's _always_ on the honor roll. He gets that from his mother."

Cinnamon flushed quickly, and looked at Dean. "You're not exactly stupid either, you know."

"Yeah, but I'm not as good at the book stuff like you and Neil are." He looked at Hunter. "On top of that, my kid can wrestle. Seriously, ten years old and he can wrestle. He's been trained by guys in the WVW since he was a tiny kid. He learned to run the ropes by running the middle rope, because he was too small to hit the top one. He can do a-"

Neil quickly interrupted, "Dad!"

Dean realized what he was doing and stopped. "Sorry, I just, well, I don't see you often." He looked back at Stephanie and Hunter, who if anything looked amused. "Oh, where are my manners? I guess you met Stephanie in the hall, sort of, but I'll do it again. Stephanie, Hunter, this is my fiancee, Cinnamon and my son, Neil."

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. and Mrs. Helmsley," Neil said, so politely that Dean couldn't help but puff up, just the tiniest bit, with pride. His kid was terrific. Neil might have his moments at home where he could be a little bratty, but they weren't that often and he was always well behaved in public. Heck Dean had met plenty of other wrestler's kids who weren't as polite or smart as Neil. And he was pretty sure none of them could wrestle like Neil, either. Yeah, his kid was the best, no arguing that. Of course, most of the credit for that politeness belonged to Cinnamon, but the gift for wrestling? That came from him.

"It's nice to meet you too, Neil," Hunter said, smiling at the boy, who was still looking a little embarrassed at the effusive praise pouring from his father's mouth.

"We've heard a lot about you," Stephanie added with a warm smile.

"Well, despite what you may have heard, I don't walk on water," Neil said, then froze realizing he had just spoken his mind without thinking. He swallowed hard and looked around, nervously.

Hunter did his best to look serious, but his eyes were glittering. "Your father is very proud of you, that's true. But he hasn't mentioned that you walk on water."

"I'm glad to hear that," Neil said, a grin playing across his lips as he relaxed a little.

"Hey, I can't help it if I have such a great kid," Dean said, sounding slightly defensive. "I have nine years of bragging about you to make up for."

"You don't have to do it all in one afternoon," Cinnamon suggested, but she was smiling too, looking pleased that Dean was so proud of their son. "Save some for the summer."

"And I'm not _that_ great," Neil said, refering to his father's compliment of his wrestling skills. "I've got some of the moves, but I don't have the presence. The idea of talking on the mike in front of a crowd, still makes me want to pee my pants."

"Yeah, but you're _working_ on it," Dean said. "You're ten years old, you've got time."

"Well, Dean you know you have a match with Cesaro tonight," Hunter said smoothly, realizing that Neil probably did not want to discuss this in front of strangers. "Get together with him and go over things at some point, but maybe you could take your fiancee and your son on a backstage tour?"

Dean nodded. "Sure, that sound great." He looked at Neil. "Do you want to see how things work?"

Neil nodded his eyes shining. "I'd like that a lot! But..." he looked over at Hunter. "Before we leave, can I get your autograph? I-I have the program from when we went to see Raw, the night I met my Dad, but the only ones who've signed it are my dad, Uncle Roman, and Uncle Seth. I was hoping I could get some more autographs, if it's not too much trouble."

"I'll be happy to sign it," Hunter said, smiling warmly at the boy.

"Thank you!" Neil exclaimed as Cinnamon dug the program out of her back pack along with a Sharpie, which she handed to Neil, who carefully brought them over to the desk. "Can-can I get your autograph, too, Mrs. Helmsley?"

"Of course."

As Hunter was signing the program, Stephanie smiled. "Since you're both here, this would be a good time to let you know, that we're giving you the last weekend in June off. We'll need Dean back on Monday for Raw, but we're giving him Wednesday through Sunday off. Will you be able to work with that?"

Cinnamon nodded. "I'm sure I can. Thank you!" Her eyes were shinning brightly.

"Yeah!" Dean did a quick fist pump. "five days! This works." He grinned to Hunter, who finished signing and pushed the program and Sharpie over to Stephanie. "Now if you'll just get some better coffee in this place, I'll be all set."

"What's wrong with the coffee? Hunter asked.

"It's lousy!" Dean said, quickly switching gears to his latest cause. "Every catering company just gives us terrible coffee. We _need_ better coffee. We should have a full espresso bar with at least two espresso machines to make espressos, lattes, and other specialty coffee drinks. At least two to three baristas, and instead of drip coffee, they should use a french press."

"What?" Hunter asked, as if not believing what he was hearing. As far as he knew, Dean had never mentioned a problem with the coffee before. "That's a little... over the top?"

"Well, okay," Dean said, not really giving up on the idea of the full coffee bar, but deciding he should do this slowly, try for a little at a time. "If that's too much, can you at least tell the catering companies to get some reusable filters that won't suck up all the oils in the coffee? Electroplated gold ones? And to grind the coffee as we need it, not use preground coffee? And-"

"-When did you become such a coffee connoisseur?" Stephanie interrupted to ask, as she capped the magic marker and handed both that and the program back to Neil, who looked at the signatures with a grin on his face.

"Since Cinnamon showed me how great coffee could be, and how lousy the coffee I was drinking was," Dean said. "I've become kind of a coffee snob, I admit it. But good coffee is awesome, seriously, there is_ such_ a difference, this is why we're always sending people on Starbucks runs, but with the right-" Cinnamon blushed and put her hand on Dean's arm. Dean paused and looked at her.

"Well, maybe we can discuss that another time?" Hunter suggested.

"You're blowing me off, aren't you?" Dean asked, eyes narrowing, slightly.

"Yes, I am." Hunter admitted, not looking the least bit guilty. "Give me a break, Ambrose. I arranged for your fiancee and son to be allowed back stage, we've given you five days off to get married, that's enough for now. You can fight the coffee fight later."

Dean pretended to think about this, and nodded. "All right, but this isn't over." He looked at Cinnamon and Neil. "You wanna take the tour?"

"Yeah!" Neil said, his voice rising in both excitement and happiness. But before they walked out the door, he turned again to Stephanie and Hunter. "Thank you again, for letting me spend time with my dad, and for the autographs. I really appreciate it."

"You're very welcome," Stephanie and Hunter said, almost in unison.

Both Dean and Cinnamon were pleased and proud of Neil's manners, that much was obvious. "We do good work," Dean whispered into Cinnamon's ear. "We should have a few more."

Cinnamon looked at him and smiled. She didn't say yes, but she didn't say no, either. "Let's discuss that on our wedding night." she suggested.

* * *

Dean was far from the first person to bring his family through one of the arenas, in fact, in some areas, it was common place to see a wrestler with his family. When they performed in some areas of Florida, Roman's family was sure to come. Go to Iowa and Seth's girlfriend was there. Dean had met a lot of his fellow Superstar's families in back stage situations. But this was the first time he was backstage showing around _his_ family. Not Roman's family that had taken him in (which he'd always be grateful for) but his own immediate family. _His_ fiancee, _his_ son. Yes, Cinnamon and Neil had come to a Raw and then Smackdown/Main event show when Dean and Cinnamon first reconnected, but it wasn't the same. They were still feeling their way around each other and he and Neil were literally strangers. Dean hadn't felt comfortable introducing them to anyone, because he wasn't sure where he fit into their lives, or even if he did. Things were different now.

They went down to catering, where a fair number of stars were still gathered, not just eating, but discussing the show that night, going over the scripts. When Neil saw Roman, he broke away from his parents and headed over. "Uncle Roman!"

Roman looked up and grinned. "Hey, Neil!" He gave the boy a hug and looked across the table he was sitting at to Barrett, who he had a match with that night. "Wade, this is Neil Ambrose, Neil, this is Wade Barrett."

"It's nice to meet you, Mr. Barrett," Neil said politely.

Dean and Cinnamon had caught up to Neil by then. "That's my son," Dean said, as if it wasn't obvious.

"Yeah, I can see the resemblance," Wade commented in his thick English accent. "He looks like someone stuck you in a miniaturizing machine."

"Then dyed my hair," Neil added.

"Your dad has some red highlights," Wade pointed out. "And looking at your Mum, it's not surprising you're a ginger."

"And what's wrong wit' bein' a ginger?" Another accent, this one a lilting Irish one, called out.

Wide eyed, Neil turned. "Sheamus," he said, softly.

The tall, red haired man came over and looked Cinnamon up and down. "You'd fit right in at the family reunion," he commented with a grin.

Cinnamon laughed. "Until I opened my mouth, then everyone would know I was an interloper."

"I dunno, there are a few family members who went 'cross the pond. You can claim to be one of them." He grinned to Neil. "You too, even though you're the spit of your Da,"

"Sheamus, this is my fiancee, Cinnamon," Dean said, "And my son, Neil."

"So," Sheamus said to Neil. "You're the future wrestler your Da's been talking about?"

Neil nodded. "I love your brogue kick, it's trill!"

"It's what?" Cinnamon asked, raising a brow.

"It's great!" Neil quickly said, and added, "I wanna learn to do it someday."

"Oh?" Sheamus looked at him, brows raised. "You thinkin' of stealing my finisher?"

"Oh no!" Neil's eyes widened and he looked mortified. "I'd never do that!"

"Don' worry, little fella," Sheamus said, ruffling Neil's hair and grinning to show he hadn't been serious. "I wern't the first person to do that kick, I won't be the last. If you find it's a good finisher for you, you'll just have to come up wit' your own name for it.

"I might," Neil said, thoughtfully. "I mean, someday I hope that I'll be able to do one of Dad's finishers, but I know most wrestlers have several and they use them at different times, in different promotions. So, I might be able to use it."

"My Fiancee works at WVW as their EMT/Paramedic," Dean said. "So, Neil has grown up around wrestlers. He knows a lot about the business, and he wants to be a wrestler too, don't you?"

Neil nodded. "I always have, too," he said. "Even before I knew who my dad was." He paused, looking as if he was debating if that was wrong of him to say, if it was short changing his dad, then added, "And when I found out he was my dad, I wanted it even more."

Sheamus and Wade exchanged grins. It was hard not to be a little affected by the scene. Tough-as-nails, certified crazy, Dean Ambrose becoming like an eager child with his own family. His son obviously so proud of his father. And Cinnamon, the tall and lanky fiancee with the hair you just had to notice. Cinnamon may not have been drop dead gorgeous, but she and Dean complimented each other very well and had this look like they just _belonged_ together. _It's the attitude_, Sheamus thought, as he looked at her. He had seen and met a number of sister, girlfriends, and cousins of wrestlers backstage and a lot of them were intimidated by the divas, most of whom looked more like professional models, actresses, and Playboy centerfolds than female wrestlers. Most of these relatives of wrestlers were ordinary women and seemed to see nothing but their own flaws in this situation, but not Cinnamon; she held her head as high as if she were any Divas equal. If she wasn't as perfectly of face and body, she had other talents that more than made up for any physical flaws. She didn't look stunned as if she was questioning if she had the right to be with Dean Ambrose, WWE Superstar, she carried herself as if she had every confidence that this was _her_ man and damned well knew they were destined to be together too. And yet, there was also something sweet and open about her too, as if her confidence would never be mistaken for arrogance. _They make it work_, Sheamus thought, focusing on the both of them now. _ And god knows it's hard enough to make a relationship work when you're in this business, but they'll find a way to do it. _

"Mr. Sheamus, Mr. Barrett," Neil began, sounding both earnest and respectful. "Can-well, if it's not too much trouble, can I get your autographs?" He looked at his mother, who again removed the program and the Sharpie from her backpack and handed it to him.

Both men agreed and took turns signing the book. As Barrett was capping the Sharpie to give it back to Neil, Cesaro came over. "We should discuss our match," he said to Dean, while nodding to the others.

Dean nodded too. "Yeah, you're right, but first, Cesaro, this is my son, Neil and my fiance, Cinnamon."

More pleasantries were exchanged and Neil collected another autograph for his program. While Dean and Cesaro then tried to discuss their upcoming match, other wrestlers and divas were coming over, which meant Dean kept pausing to introduce Cinnamon and Neil.

"Maybe Neil and I should go someplace?" Cinnamon suggested at one point, worried that Dean wasn't getting the time he needed to plan for the night. "Maybe we could go to the hotel for a bit and come back for the show?"

Dean shook his head. "Nah, Cesaro and I could run a match in our sleep, couldn't we?" When the other man nodded, Dean turned his attention back to Cinnamon and Neil. "See? We'll be fine. What else do you want to see, Neil?"

"The ring," Neil said, his voice almost a hushed whisper as if he was talking about a bit of Holy land. "I know I'll see it tonight, but I'd love to see it when there's no one there."

Dean grinned, remembering when he was a kid, watching wrestling and wondering too, what it would be like to see the ring, to touch it, to maybe even walk in it. Yes, Neil had his own ring and Neil had been in and out of WVW rings since he was able to walk, but there was something almost magical about a ring you only saw on TV. Even when Dean was older and working for Heartland wrestling, he wanted to see what the WWE ring was about. And he remembered when he had his first chance to be in one, back in 2006, how he'd felt when he first stepped into the ring and how he had wished he'd had a chance to step in it without the crowd, had a chance to walk around in it and get the feel for it. "Anyone know who's in the ring now?" he asked to the group.

"Seth and Cena, last I heard," someone called out.

"Oh, good, we can interrupt them," Dean said. He looked around. "Hey, you guys should see my kid in the ring. Seriously, he's awesome."

"You've mentioned that a time or two," Roman said, grinning.

"Well, now I can prove it all to you," Dean said, "C'mon."

End of Part One

* * *

**Dedication: This story goes out to Lauraxxx, and many others who suggested I do a story about Neil being able to visit back stage of the WWE. And to Psion53, who helped inspire the "Dean fights for coffee" scenes. I doubt this story is anywhere near what people pictured, but it's the story that came out of these ideas. And I hope you folks enjoy it. **

* * *

**Special Thanks To: **

**Guest:**** I'm glad you liked ****_Chasing The Darkness, _and I'm glad you're enjoying the "Cinnamon" series. I really appreciate your taking the time to tell me you're enjoying it, too.**

**Nancy:**** First, don't worry about the tears, they were good ones. Also, I hope as you're reading this, your son is doing well and you too. **

**I understand being reluctant to review at first. I can see where it would be really easy to think, _Well, this person must know he/she has talent, and what can I say besides I liked it?_ Which is one of the many reasons I started my whole, argument for reviewing anyway. I don't expect to convert people who are really determined _not_ to review. They have all the excuses they need right in their head, and at best they'll ignore me, at worst they'll be like Madison and flame me for having the nerve to question their rights to always take and never give. I'm trying to get to the folks who may feel that they have nothing to contribute, maybe the ones that tried to review before, but were blasted by an overly sensitive writer. I want people to understand that reviewing means you're part of this. And no doubt about it, this is a community. The more you give, the more you'll get out of it. And thank you for realizing it and taking the time to review. I so appreciate it! **

**Taj14:**** I'm glad you're enjoying the stories and I appreciate your taking the time to let me know. I would have sent this via PM, but you have the option of receiving PM's turned off. so I put my thanks here. I hope you don't mind.**

**PipeBombDreams:**** What can I say, Pipe? (Or, do you prefer PBD? Let me know, I'm flexible!) You are the chocolate s****havings and dollop of whipped cream on my daily dose of humble pie. I don't know if I should hate you or love you, but I do know that you have yet to do a review that didn't in some way, make me smile. Probably not what you intended me to smile about, but smile none-the-less. And laugh too. You have single-handedly brought myself, my significant other and my betareader to tears of laughter.**

**However, on the off chance that you are serious, I shall attempt to answer your review.**

**1: I know you didn't say it was against the rules. But you still implied that I was somehow "wrong" for having two stories on the front page. And again, I really didn't. In order for me to have two stories on the front page, you had to use filters that allowed you only to see complete stories. First, it's not my fault that so few stories are completed around here. Second, again, no rule against it. I can write fifty small stories and flood the entire front page if I want, and FFnet won't do a thing, as long as none of those stories violate any of the _real_ rules. I will tell you I didn't do it deliberately. I didn't sit down and go, "How do I get two stories on the front page? DAMN IT! THERE MUST BE A WAY!" It was a mere coincident. And no, I will not change and always say the "Between the Lines" series is incomplete. The whole point is that these are short stories (no more than two parts) and when they are completed, they are completed and I will mark them as such. **

**2: Uhm.. first of all, _Tale of the Cat_, the Punk/AJ story you refer to. Forgive me, I have to shout a bit here, but I don't know how else to get you to understand. PUNK WAS _NOT_ A CAT! No one turned Punk into a cat, AJ was not suddenly married to a cat, in the story. The whole point of the story was that AJ's friend pointed out that Punk ACTED like a cat. _ACTED._ That Punk had many CAT LIKE QUALITIES, but _never_ was it said that Punk indeed was a cat. He's not. He's a former wrestler, a UFC fighter, a husband, and many other things both good and bad, but he is _NOT_ A CAT. So, do we have that clear?**

**3: Your Idea. As interesting as it is, I'm going to have to take a pass on it for now. I have a lot of ideas floating about in my head and while I see some merit in yours, it just is not inspiring me at this moment. If I change my mind, I'll let you know. But, I think the WWE would have a rule about someone winning the MITB contract and then handing it to someone else (even someone as truly magnificent as the beautiful _and_ talented daughter of CM Punk and AJ Lee) And, if she's that fantastic, why shouldn't she win it by herself? But again, I appreciate that you like my stories enough that they have inspired you so much that you find yourself wishing for things to happen in my universe.**

**4: I was unaware that I had a reputation for being obsessed with both animals and being on the front page. Are you sure this is a full fledged reputation and not just something you, yourself feel? If there are others who, like you, are painting me with this brush of shame (obsessed with animals AND being on the front page? My God, how WILL I go on?) please tell me who so I can talk to them and plead my case? If you feel uncomfortable telling me, ask them to PM me and we'll discuss it. **

**5: I don't write those arguments about reviewing talking only to you Pipe/PBD. In fact, since you do review, I am really not referring to you at all. So just relax, we're cool, I'm not yelling at you. **

**Author's Notes:**

**This would normally be the time where I'd write another one of my arguments for "Why You Should Review." And I know I should write one. Just... not today, all right? I do have more arguments and I do want to write them, but this has not been my day today, in fact, it hasn't been my week. I thought I was going to escape this virus/bug that has everyone around me feeling like death warmed over but I'm starting to feel like it's sneaking up behind me, getting ready to knock me sideways. Someone I've been trying to keep out of my life because he's emotional poison for me, is threatening to come roaring back in with a vengeance. I was hoping this story would help take me away from my issues and instead it proved to be hard to write. Harder than I thought it would be, for some reason. So, for those who love my arguments, sorry, hopefully I'll have one for part two. For those who are irritated at my arguments? Well, you get a break this time.**

**However, that being said, this doesn't mean I won't appreciate getting reviews on this. You folks know how I feel about reviews, I love them, I respond to them. Even the weird ones. And yes, for those who need to be reminded, I can take critical reviews, providing the person giving them sincerely wants to see me improve. If you see any glaring mistakes in spelling and/or grammar, point them out so I can fix them, I don't mind. If you don't want to leave a critical review for fear of being blasted by others? Then send me a PM and we'll keep it between you and me. **

**But, if you liked the story, and just want to write, "Hey, good job," or "Nice story," I'll appreciate that, too. **

**Until next time, take care of yourselves.**

**Peace Out**

**Willow**


	8. And In This Corner Conclusion

**Disclaimer Dean Ambrose, Roman Reigns, Seth Rollins, and the many other wrestlers in this story are the property of the WWE and/or the actors / sports entertainers / superstars that portray them. This story is intended as tribute only and is not intended to infringe on any copyrights. **

**Original characters are the property of me, and the children of my own imagination. Any resemblance to any real persons, living or dead is purely coincidental. **

**Again, this story goes out to Lauraxxx, and many others who suggested I do a story about Neil being able to visit back stage of the WWE. And to Psion53, who, if she reads it, will know what scene she's inspired. I doubt this story is anywhere near what people pictured, but it's the story that came out of these ideas. And I hope you folks enjoy it.**

* * *

**And In This Corner  
**_Part Two_

Putting one arm around Cinnamon, and the other around Neil, Dean lead them through the back stage. Fortunately, the road crew had put together the ring and the ramp and were working on the sound and lighting. When they got to the top of the ramp, Neil stopped as suddenly as if someone had thrown up an invisible barrier.

"Wow," he whispered, looking out. "It look so long!" He turned to his Dad. "How do you deal? I mean, you come down here and the lights are on and there are people, and it's all alive... how do you keep from-from _peeing_ yourself?"

"Neil!" Cinnamon scolded automatically.

Dean didn't want to laugh, but he couldn't help it. He ruffled Neil's hair, giving a short burst of laughter, which he reigned in quickly. "You do get used to it. After awhile, it becomes part of your job, even with the lights and the people. Remember though, I started out in smaller places. I didn't one day start wrestling and come to the WWE, I did my time in the indies, so I worked my way up to entrances like this."

Neil nodded, "That makes sense." He looked down the ramp to the ring where Uncle Seth and John Cena were working out their match. "Wow."

"HEY!" Dean shouted, putting his hands up to his mouth in a makeshift megaphone. When both Seth and John turned their attention to the top of the ramp, he continued, a little softer, but still plenty loud enough to be heard. "Sorry to interrupt you, ladies, but my son, the _real_ future of the WWE, would like to check out his future place of employment, I hope you don't mind. And, I don't really care if you _do_ mind."

"Uncle Seth!" Neil called out, waving brightly.

Seth grinned at the boy. "Hey, Neil, you wanna see the ring? " he asked, completely ignoring Dean's insulting remarks.

Neil nodded, his eyes huge.

"Well, get down here then." Seth suggested.

Neil didn't hesitate, he ran down the ramp, his nervousness gone, and hurried up the stairs, then climbed in.

"You got a hug for your favorite uncle?" Seth asked, still grinning.

"Yeah, I do, but he's back in West Virginia," Neil quipped, smiling. There was some truth in that, Jasper Coleman had been an uncle and a substitute father for Neil, longer back than he could remember, and thus was truly the favorite uncle. But in this case he was teasing Seth as much as Seth was teasing him.

"Ow, you cut deep!" Seth said, mockingly putting his hands over his heart as if he was stabbed. "Well, okay, so, you got a hug for _one_ of your favorite uncles?"

Neil nodded and ran over, hugging Seth. "How's Aunt Kayla?"

"Good," Seth said as they drew apart. "When I talk to her tonight, I'll tell her you said hi." He looked over at John. "John, this is Dean's son and my nephew, Neil Ambrose. Neil, this is John Cena."

"Wow," Neil held out his hand. "It's _awesome_ to meet you!"

"No it isn't," Dean said grinning, as he climbed into the ring and held the ropes open so Cinnamon could climb in as well. "If anything, it's awesome for Cena to meet, _you_."

"Dad!" Neil's face flushed instantly.

"Oh?" John looked at Dean with a smile that was somewhere between a grin and a smirk. "And why is that?"

"Because my kid is some day going to make all of us look like rank amateurs. He's been training to be a wrestler since he could walk," Dean said, standing tall. "He's already better than some of the guys on the roster and he's getting better every day."

"Really?" John turned his attention to Neil. "Is this true, or is your father exaggerating?"

Neil flushed, looking at the floor for a moment, then steeled himself and looked up at Mr. Cena. "I've wanted to be a professional wrestler as long as I can remember," he said, the naked honesty clear in his voice. "Even before I knew my dad was Dean Ambrose. I mean, I always knew my dad was a wrestler, my mom told me so."

Dean nodded. "And this is his mother." He drew Cinnamon forward. "Cinnamon, this is John Cena, John, this is my fiancee, Cinnamon."

Cinnamon held out her hand. "Nice to meet you."

"Nice to meet you too," John said, shaking her hand. "Dean can't talk highly enough about you and Neil."

"Well, we can't say enough good about him, either," Cinnamon said, with an easy smile.

With the attention off of him, Neil was walking around the ring, testing out the spring of the floor. It was both different and similar to his ring at home. There were other differences too, not just the obvious, like the ring posts not being covered with foam or the ropes not having a garden hose covering. The ropes had a different tension than his ring at home, even a different tension than the ropes of the WVW ring. he wondered if it was because this ring was bigger than those. WVW used at 16' square ring, just like his ring at home was. The ring the WWE used was 20'.

His parents, John Cena, and Uncle Seth were talking in one area, near the corner, but not too near. Neil eyed the other side of the ring, feeling the muscles in his legs twitch. He wanted to run the ropes, see what it was like to run the ropes in a genuine WWE ring, but the adults were talking and he didn't know if he should wait until he could ask if it was okay, or to just do it, or to not do it. He looked at the adults again, carefully, realizing he could run the ropes from the side closest to the ramp to the side closest to the announcer's tables without any worry that he'd interfere with the adults. He walked over to the end by the announcer's tables, which were being set up by the road crew. With an easy gait, he jogged across the ring, then reached out with his right hand, grabbed the rope, turned and jogged back. He was a little awkward at first, as he got used to the extra four feet of length, but soon enough he adapted his stride and was running the ropes as easily as he ran the ones on the WVW rings, or even his back yard ring.

"See?" Dean said, interrupting whatever Seth had been saying and pointing to Neil. "Watch my kid, he runs the ropes like a pro."

Seth and John exchanged looks, grinned, then turned their attention to Neil. "Oh yeah, he's running those ropes," Seth said. Running the ropes was something every wrestler did for hours when they were training. It helped build up your endurance, but the act itself wasn't that difficult. Dean was making it sound something akin to parting the Red Sea, and Seth had a pretty good idea that was only because Neil was doing it. If it had been someone else's kid, the Lunatic Fringe would not have been nearly as effusive.

"We ran them in his back yard ring the last time I was there," Dean remarked, then called out. "Neil, let's run them together!"

"Okay!" Neil said, not even slowing down.

Dean went over and took the other side, from left to right of the ramp. At first the running looked a little awkward as they had to move to avoid each other, but after a bit they fell into that rhythm where their running looked easy, as if they were working as a team rather than two entities doing the same thing. "Let's speed it up," Dean called. Neil didn't nod, or say anything, he just sped up. After a few awkward passes they were running the ropes just as well at the higher speed.

"Do they do this often?" Seth asked, grinning to Cinnamon.

"Every chance they get now that Neil is no longer in a cast," Cinnamon said.

"He's pretty serious, isn't he?" John asked, indicating Neil.

Cinnamon nodded, not taking her eyes off of Dean and Neil. "He does a lot of the typical things kids his age do, but, he does a lot of other things with his spare time that are to help him become a wrestler. He comes to the WVW matches with me and studies them and is always asking the wrestlers, 'what can I do to get better?' He's been raised on wrestling as much as other kids were raised on television and video games."

"Yeah, I can tell," John said.

"My dad used to take me to local wrestling matches," Cinnamon explained. "It was our thing as father and daughter and I wanted to share that with Neil. And even though he didn't know who his father was until recently, he sure had his blood, because he won't settle for that side of the ropes," she waved her hand, indicating the seating, "he wants to be in the ring."

Meanwhile, Dean and Neil stopped running the ropes. "Watch this!" Dean called out to John and Seth. He turned his attention back to Neil. "Do a flip bump!"

Neil shrugged, then leaped up, doing a flip in the air and landing on his back, carefully spreading his arms to disperse the impact. He did it perfectly, not just the execution of the move, but upon landing, his face even took on a grimace to sell that he'd seriously hurt himself. Of course, the effect was ruined when he sat up and grinned. "How was that?"

"Perfect," Dean said.

Neil looked over at Mr. Cena and Uncle Seth. It was obvious that while he loved his dad's admiration, he wanted to hear what people who weren't his folks, who were professional wrestlers, but less involved. Uncle Seth might be a little more familiar, but it was clear Neil wanted to know what Mr. Cena, someone with no vested interest in Neil's wrestling abilities would say.

"Wow, good job!" Seth called out.

"That was really convincing!" John said.

"Thank you," Neil said, his eyes glowing.

"Do you think you know enough to try and do a quick match?" Dean asked.

Neil stared at him. "I-I don't know," he said. "I-I'm not that good."

"Is that safe?" Cinnamon asked, looking a little worried. "I know he can do a lot of moves, but this is the next step."

"What's a match but doing moves?" Dean asked, but didn't wait for an answer. "You know I'll do whatever I can to make sure he doesn't get hurt."

Neil gulped, almost afraid to breathe. Could he do this? Could he really have a "match" with his dad? Was he ready? He looked at his mother. "Can we?" he asked, trying to be cool, but knowing there was a pleading tone to his voice.

Cinnamon bit her lip, then shrugged, faking a more casual attitude than she actually felt, "If your dad feels it's safe, go for it." She knew this was one of those times where she had to trust Dean and Neil to know what they were doing.

There was a cheering behind them. Other wrestlers had started coming down the ramp, curious as to what was going on. "Do it, little man!" Roman called out. "Show your old man who's boss!"

Neil looked up at the group and gulped. "You-you guys w-wanna watch?"

"Sure," Jimmy, one half of Neil's favorite tag team called out. "Your Dad keeps saying you're the real future of wrestling, we'd like to see what the future holds."

Dean studied Neil, knowing that for him, this was tough. He was the center of attention, something he didn't like. But Dean also knew, that Neil knew if he was going to make it in this business, he'd have to learn to not only not mind being the center of attention, but to adore it, that wasn't just the wrestling, the wrestling was the steak, but the show was the sizzle. And in the entertainment business, the sizzle was just as important as the steak. Neil could be the best wrestler in the world, but unless he could make the audience believe that he lived for their reaction, good or bad, he'd never make it past the indies. _This may be one of your first moments_, Dean thought. _ Are you up for the challenge?_ It didn't matter to Dean if he was ready or not, Dean knew Neil had time, but he also knew Neil would be disappointed if he shirked. That was just the way he was, Dean knew it, because Dean was like that himself.

Neil drew in a deep breath and a cocky grin spread over his face. "Move closer then," he called out, "'cause this may not be NXT, but still, the Future. Is. _N__ow__!__"_

Dean grinned. It wasn't the perfect comeback, but it was delivered with an air of arrogance and confidence that made it work. He saw his fellow wrestlers grinning among themselves and they moved closer. Practically the whole roster was there and they gathered around the ring.

"Gee, maybe we should give you the whole ring," Seth suggested.

"Yeah, that's a good idea," Dean said. "Let the _professionals_ have the ring."

As Cinnamon, John, and Seth left the ring, Dean could feel the tension almost radiating off of Neil in waves as they moved to the center of the ring. "Are you okay?" he asked softly. "You can back out if it's too much."

Neil shook his head. "I'm fine, I can do this."

"Hey, if we're going to do this, we should do it right!" Nattie called out, climbing into the ring. "Someone go over by the bell." She motioned to Neil and Dean, "In the corners, you two!" She looked out at the gathered wrestlers and pointed to Adam Rose. "You!"

"Me?" Adam pointed to himself. "What do you want from me?"

"You're referee," Nattie said in a tone that clearly stated this was _not_ an option.

Adam shrugged and climbed into the ring. "I'm not exactly dressed for it, but I'll make do."

Dean and Neil looked at each other, and with a slight nod, went to the opposite corners. One of the sound techs who was working by the announcer's table, came over and handed Nattie a microphone. "Might as well do a sound check."

Nattie took the microphone and brought it to her lips. "Ladies and Gentlemen, this contest is for one fall or submission! In this corner, from Charleston West Virginia, standing-" she cut a look over to Neil. "five foot five, weighing one hundred and thirty-five pounds, the Challenger, _Neil Ambrose!"_ Cheers broke out from the roster and Jey let out a loud, shrill, whistle. In true wrestling tradition, Nattie had added to both Neil's height and weight.

"And in this corner," Nattie continued, "from Cincinnati Ohio, Standing at 6' 4" tall, weighing 225 pounds, he is the current WWE World Heavyweight Champion, _Dean Ambrose!"_

Dean smiled. He wasn't the champion, but it sure sounded like music to his ears to hear Nattie say he was. He heard his co-workers boo and almost laughed. He was the bad guy in this match, and that was fine with him.

Neil and Dean both walked out of their corners towards the center. Adam put his arms up as if indicating that as much as they wanted to, they were not allowed to start ripping each other apart just yet, then Tyson Kid rang the bell to signal the start of the match. Adam backed away as Nattie climbed out of the ring.

Dean and Neil circled each other for a bit, one hand up, as if testing each other. Dean let Neil make first contact, and he did, putting his hands on Dean's shoulders. Dean did likewise and the two pushed each other a bit, Dean letting Neil do more of the pushing. "You're going to win," he told Neil softly, their arms hiding their mouths so people wouldn't be able to see or hear them talking.

"Really?" Neil asked, speaking just as softly, "You don't mind?"

"Nope. Now, I'm going to smack you in the chest. You know I'll do it with an open fist, and roll it off you. You fall to the ground, sell it, then roll and give me a leg sweep, okay?"

"Okay."

They drew apart and Dean threw a punch into his chest, that looked for all the world as if he wanted to knock the breath right out of Neil, but in truth barely grazed him. Neil's face took on a look of absolute shock, as if his father had just knocked all the air out of him. He fell back in a perfect back drop, spreading his hands out and grimacing as if not only did he have the wind knocked from him, but he also just possibly broke his back. Dean raised his fists in the air, grandstanding a bit, as his fellow WWE Superstars began booing him. Neil rolled over to his side and Dean made as if he was going to lunge for him. Quickly, Neil rolled to his stomach, curled one leg under him and shot the other one out, sweeping it. Dean jumped and leaped forward, crashing onto the ground with a decent spike bump, making it look for all the world like Neil had forced him into a life threatening fall.

Their match continued. Dean had fully been expecting they'd be doing things slow and easy, but he was surprised at how fast he and Neil were able to move together. No, it wasn't at the speed of a normal WWE match, and it would make the average ROH watcher fall asleep, but it was far from practice slow either. At regular intervals, Dean made sure they got close enough that he could tell Neil what moves they should do next.

They also stayed away from the top ropes. Even though Dean was pretty sure Neil would have been just fine up there, he had a feeling Neil's mother would _not_ approve. Cinnamon was pretty easy going about Neil's wrestling, but every mother had her limits.

When Dean started feeling that the match should be winding down, he pushed Neil into the ropes. Adam came over and hovered near, but said nothing, realizing this was Dean's chance to talk. "Okay, push me to the middle, then do a standing leg sweep. I'll give it a good fall and look dazed. Go to the ropes. When I stand up, clothesline me. When I get up again, give me Dirty Deeds okay? Unless you have another finisher you want to try?"

Neil shook his head, mouth open, making it look like he was in a lot of pain and trying to shake it off for the benefit of the audience. "Headlock driver?" he asked, "or Double armed DDT?"

"Headlock driver," Dean said. He knew his son could do that one, he'd taught it to him the last time he was home. He then turned his attention to Adam and quickly told him, "This is the end of the match. After the Headlock Driver, he's gonna pin me."

Adam and Neil nodded, then Neil braced his arms on his dad's shoulders and pushed him towards the center of the ring. Dean leaned forward, which gave the impression that he was fighting to keep from being pushed, but that Neil was so strong he was able to stop him. It was a little harder than it looked, but Dean had experience and Neil was able to bear his share of the weight. They made it to the center of the ring and Neil swiftly pulled up and swung his foot around behind Dean's legs. With a perfect sense of timing, Dean jumped up and fell down in a back drop, which he sold as hard as he could. Neil stayed behind him.

Dean struggled to get to his feet and once he did, he grabbed onto his lower back as if he was in horrible pain. Neil jogged over to the ropes directly behind Dean and bounced off the second rope, using the Rebound Lariat, then burst forward hitting Dean with a clothesline just as he had turned around. Dean fell to the mat in a bump and lay there, looking as if he was dazed. As he rose to his feet, Neil moved closer, ready to deliver Dirty Deeds as the other wrestlers gathered around the ring started cheering loudly.

Then, an irritated voice filled the arena, interrupting everything. "What the _hell_ is going on here?"

Everyone looked to the top of the ramp and froze when they saw, Vince McMahon standing, glaring out as if he couldn't believe what he was seeing. "Am I paying you guys to stand around watching _children_ playing?"

There were a few moments of awkward silence as everyone looked at each other. Dean was a little bit surprised, this wasn't the first time a child had been in the ring, and it wasn't the first time everyone had gathered around to watch one, either. The WWE was a major stoker in the Make A Wish engine, and many kids had a dying wish of being in the ring at least once. _He knows who this is_, flashed through Dean's mind. _He knows Neil is my son__, and therefore, __**not**__ a Make A Wish, kid._ It wasn't a far fetched notion, Hunter and Stephanie probably had told him Cinnamon and Neil were visiting. Vince was no youngster, but he wasn't senile yet and this would be as difficult to figure out as a one colored Rubik's cube. Dean's son was visiting, Dean was now in the ring with a child who looks like Dean. Therefore, kid in ring was Dean's son. Dean opened his mouth to speak, to explain what was going on, but just as he was about to start, he heard another voice speaking instead.

"Sir? Th-this is my f-fault."

Stunned, Dean looked over at his son, who looked scared and nervous, but he wasn't backing down. A quick look around the arena showed Dean he wasn't the only one who was surprised. With his immaculate three piece suit and the rest of him groomed down to the last hair on his head, even at his age, Vince cut an impressive and intimidating figure. Any child who grew up watching the WWE as Neil had, would have to be more than a little nervous knowing that they were responsible for Vince's ire. Yet Neil, who was shy about crowds, Neil, who could be shy with strangers, had spoken out. And even though Dean could feel the tension, the nervousness, floating off his son in waves, he also knew Neil was not going to back down.

"_Your_ fault?" Vince headed down the ramp, a scornful expression on his face. "You're just a child, this isn't _your_ fault. It's the fault of these fools that decided they'd rather waste _my_ time and _my_ money, then do their jobs, which is to get ready for the show."

"No, Sir," Neil said, his voice wavering and lowering slightly. "It's my f-"

"-Rollins, do something useful with yourself and get that kid a mike," Vince interrupted, looking over at Seth. "Get me one, too. If the kid's going to choose this moment to drop his balls, let's give him the voice to tell everyone."

Seth looked a little surprised, but he ran to do what was asked. Dean went to the side of the ring so Seth could hand him the mike, because Neil was frozen to the spot, staring at Vince McMahon in wide-eyed fear. "Give me the other one," Dean demanded. Seth complied, then went back to the announcer's table and grabbed a third mike. He ran it over to Vince, who took it from him, not taking his gaze off Neil.

Dean went over, flicking on the wireless microphones. He fully expected to have to put it in Neil's hands, that the kid would be unable to grab it he was so scared, but Neil surprised him and took the mike from him and held it properly. Dean turned his own on and waited to see what would happen.

"As you were saying?"

Vince's voice boomed through the almost empty arena now, sounding much more intimidating. Dean would not have been surprised if his son had dropped a deuce in his pants, he was pretty sure when he was Neil's age this would have been too much for even him, the loud mouth ballsy kid. For Neil this had to be some form of torture.

"It's my f-fault," Neil said into the mike, which made his voice echo too, but instead of sound intimidating, you could hear the fear flowing across every word, every syllable. He paused for a moment, wincing as if the sound of his own voice disgusted him. Then, he straightened himself up and continued. "_I'm_ the one who wanted to come out and see this ring. _ I'm_ the one that wanted to get inside. _I'm_ the one that challenged my dad to a match. Because someday, _I'm_ going to be a professional wrestler."

Okay, so Neil challenging Dean to a match wasn't quite the truth, but Dean knew that at this moment, at least as far as Neil was concerned, it _was_ the truth. More than that, Dean started to hear the strength flowing back into Neil's voice. Not disrespect, Cinnamon would brook no disrespect from Neil at this age, and she _was_ present, even though she too was keeping silent. What was filling Neil's voice now was _confidence_. He wouldn't be flat out rude to Vince, but nor would he let Vince push him around, just because he was a child.

"So?" Vince waved his hand in a dismissive gesture as if nothing Neil could say had any real significance. "Kid, if I had a dime for every child that came out here, got into that ring and proclaimed that he was going to grow up to be a WWE Superstar, I'd have enough money to give the network away for free to everyone in the world. I know it, they know it too." He gestured again to the wrestlers and divas gathered around. "They've seen it and heard it themselves. And from the looks of you, you're not sick, so this isn't a dying wish. You're just some punk kid that wants to play in _my_ ring. Why should anyone care? Why should anyone be out here watching _you?"_

_This isn't real_, Dean thought. _Vince would never be this__ deliberately mean to a child._ Instantly, his mind flashed back to Triple H's office earlier, when Dean, Neil, Cinnamon, Hunter, and Stephanie had been talking. What had Neil said? _"And I'm not__that__ great, I've got the moves, but I don't have the presence. The idea of talking on the mike in front of a crowd, still makes me want to pee my pants."_ Dean knew instantly that Vince had found out about that conversation, maybe it was Stephanie who told him, maybe it was Hunter, but Vince knew it had happened and Vince knew Neil saw the public speaking part of wrestling as his biggest flaw.

_He's testing Neil_, Dean thought. _ He's testing my son, seeing if he can do it. My god, my kid is ten years old and has no clue, but he's getting a pre-audition! _Dean knew that even if his son botched this, it didn't mean his chances of ever making it into the WWE were over. Vince would understand that Neil was young, and in eight to ten years might have developed a stronger ring presence. But if Neil could impress Vince right now, the odds of him getting a try out, possibly even before he made a name for himself in the indies were going to be astronomically high. _Ho-ly, shit!_ He looked over at Neil, wondering what he would do now. Would he crumble? Or could he carry through? Fail or pass?

In his excitement, Dean forgot there was a third option. Fail, pass, or _fly_. But apparently, Neil realized it on some level, and also realized he was his father's son. Still drawn up to his full 5' 2" height, he drew in a deep breath. "Why?" he repeated, then answered the question himself, "Because I'm just _that_ good."

It took everything Dean had not to leap up and punch the air in triumph. He knew Neil was nervous, but he had delivered that line with the utmost confidence. _Someone's been watching my old promos_.

"You might have had a billion other kids in this ring," Neil continued, "And every one of them might have said that they were going to be a wrestler when they grew up, and they all might have said they were the best. But the difference between them and me? I've wanted this my whole life. I've worked for this my whole life. I don't just talk the talk, I walk the walk. I _am_ as good as every one of those kids _said_ they were. Sir, I'm so good, it's _scary_."

The only sound in the entire arena was Neil's voice, carrying over the microphone. Even the heating system had silenced as if it realized this was Neil Ambrose's time and it would respect that. Dean knew that the kid was borrowing heavily on some of his old promos, but Neil wasn't just repeating them, he was making them his own.

"And if you'll excuse me," Neil continued, "I've got a match to finish."

Before Vince could say a word, utter a single syllable, Neil tossed the microphone to the floor of the ring, then turned to Dean. Bringing his foot up, he kicked his father in the chest, just as Dean had taught him not long ago. Automatically, Dean bent over, tossing his own microphone to the side. Neil got around to the side of him, looped his father's head in his arms, drew one foot forward as if building momentum, then kicked back quickly and fell forward into a modified face plant. Dean brought his arm and palm up to protect his head, and fell forward into a perfect spike bump, legs shooting straight into the air, then pushing himself onto his back, where he landed with a thud, arched his back as if in massive pain, then collapsed as if Neil had beat out the very last ounce of strength in his body. Neil rolled onto his knees, scrambled over to his dad, and wove one arm behind his father's leg to lift it, then laid across Dean's chest in the classic pin.

For a moment, everyone was too stunned to do anything, then Adam Rose remembered he was the referee and ran over. Falling down onto his stomach, he counted out. "One-Two-THREE!"

Adam's yelling seemed to break the spell over the crowd and Tyson rang the bell. Adam pulled Neil to his feet, holding up his arm and pointing to show he was the victor. Instantly, everyone broke out cheering, forgetting for a moment that Vince was on the ramp, caught up in the spectacle of this father and son match, impressed with how well this..._boy_ had pulled it off. And when Dean rose to his feet and grabbed his son's other arm and raising it, the cheering got even louder. Then, Dean went and grabbed one of the microphones on the floor, and raised it to his mouth. "Vince, we didn't have time before, but let me give you a proper introduction. This is my son, Neil Ambrose. Take a long, hard, look at this kid, because _this_, is the future of your company, right here."

All eyes turned to Vince to see what he would say. He was still standing on the ramp, his face expressionless. His gaze alternated between Dean and Neil for a few moments, then he nodded. "I don't know what you're doing to learn, this game, Neil, but keep it up. And when you're done with school? You get your ass down to Florida. I can't guarantee you a spot, you still have to earn that, but I _will_ guarantee you a chance to prove you have what it takes. Does that sound fair?"

Neil's eyes were wider than Dean had ever seen them and for a moment, he seemed in too much shock to talk, but then he nodded. Dean handed him the microphone and he took it. "Yes sir," he said, his voice filled with a raw, earnest, politeness, so different from his earlier cocky bravado. "That sounds _more_ than fair. Thank you, sir! I promise you, I'm going to keep working as hard as I can."

Again, Dean wanted to leap up and do an air punch. _Nailed it!_ he thought. _My kid just fucking __**nailed**__ it! Nailed it, stapled it, screwed it__ to the wall__! I am __**totally**__ rocking this parenting thing! _

"Good," Vince said, nodding, then he looked around at the members of the roster. "Party's over, get back to work, we've got a show to put on in less than four hours and all of you had _better_ be in top form tonight." Then he turned and started heading back up the ramp again. When he got to the top, he stopped and turned around. Everyone had started to move about again, a feeling of normalcy had come back into the arena, even the heating system had kicked on again, sending in a steady hum. "Oh, Dean?" He called out, still holding the microphone.

Dean looked up, taking the microphone from Neil. "Yes?"

"Be careful," Vince said, his voice solemn, but a glitter in his eyes. "That son of yours could end up surpassing you."

Dean grinned and without a moment of hesitation said, "That's _exactly_ what I'm hoping for."

The End.

* * *

**Special Thanks To: **

**Nancy: Good, I'm glad to hear you and your son are doing well, and again, I hope nothing has gotten worse by the time you read this. Yeah, whatever this is, it's kicking my butt, I just hope it goes away soon. **

**I'm glad you enjoyed the whole "Dean crusades for coffee!" I wasn't sure if people would like it, so it means a lot to me that you let me know you enjoyed it. And, I just figured eventually Dean would get close enough to West Virginia that Cinnamon and Neil could surprise them with a visit. I know when I was a kid, if my dad had been gone as much as Dean is, I would have been begging to see him, so I didn't think it was farfetched for Neil to feel the same. **

**Again, thank you for taking the time to review, I really appreciate it! **

**Author's notes:**** Yeah, again no argument. But I'm feeling like something the cat not only dragged in, but ate and then barfed up on the stairs (and yes, you are welcome for that mental image) So, I just want to get this up so I can go back to bed. **

**Until next time, take care of yourselves.**

**Peace Out**

**Willow**


	9. Pennies

**Disclaimer Dean Ambrose is the property of the WWE and/or the actor / sports entertainer / superstar that portray him. This story is intended as tribute only and is not intended to infringe on any copyrights. **

**Original characters are the property of me, and the children of my own imagination. Any resemblance to any real persons, living or dead is purely coincidental. **

**Author's notes: No, I have not abandoned_ The Girl Who Lives_. I just was reading Ablivion's story _Trapped in An Elevator With The Shield_, (excellent one shot, you should go read it, it's both touching and funny) and I got the idea for this one. No, I didn't copy Ablivion's story, except for the concept of being stuck in an elevator. But since her story did give me the idea and since it is a great story, I wanted to acknowledge the inspiration behind it. **

* * *

**Pennies**

The two women who walked into the empty elevator at the same time were very close in age, although you would never know by looking at them. And if you saw them, you would conclude that they didn't know each other, which was absolutely true. This was the first time in either of their lives that they were ever within 500 feet of each other, despite having grown up in the same city.

The one woman looked at least ten years older than her given age. She was tall and thin with dirty blonde hair that could have used a good wash. In fact, everything about her indicated that a long, hot, shower could be beneficial to her. She wore a pair of dirty jeans and a t-shirt that proudly proclaimed across her breasts that she only slept with the best. If she hadn't been wearing a ragged denim jacket, the back would have been visible, which was an advertisement for a mattress manufacturer. She had quick, nervous gestures as if she was a bird in the middle of a heard of elephants and constantly had to avoid being stepped on.

The other woman looked much younger than her age, and might have easily been mistaken for a high school girl, if she were carrying books. She wore a denim skirt, faded to a light blue, but clean. Above that she wore a blouse made of a light, gauzy type of material with narrow sleeves that belled out at the wrists. The emerald green color set off her eyes perfectly. Her long, auburn hair hung loose around her shoulders, kept out of her face with a simple green headband, the exact color of the blouse. She looked as if she could have walked out of the past, the sixties or seventies, and if this was a movie, likely some song by Fleetwood Mac or The Grateful Dead would have been playing in the background whenever the scene focused on her.

Both women each had a child with them too, young children and about a year apart in age. As with their mother's appearance, the children were different as well. The blonde woman had a son, the auburn one a daughter. Both children had similar hair and eye color to their mothers. But the boy, like his mother, seemed ragged and unkempt. He was wearing a pair of jeans that looked as if they may have never seen the inside of a washing machine and a T-shirt that advertized Harley Davidson motorcycles. The girl was wearing a pair of jeans as well, and like her mothers they had faded to a soft blue and white. They were spotlessly clean and decorated with brightly colored patches in such a way that the patches almost seemed to be a design. Her shirt was a tie-dye T-shirt in mostly greens and blues, with a row of brightly colored bears marching across the front.

The mother of the boy was holding her son's hand. The woman with the daughter carried her child in her arms. When they boarded the elevator, the boy's mother was close to the buttons. The woman with the daughter smiled. "Tenth floor, please!"

The young boy's head turned in the direction of the strange woman. Her voice sounded different from the women he knew, almost as if she were singing the words rather than saying them. He stared at her, wondering if there was something wrong, or something right about her voice.

"Yeah, that's where I was going too," the boy's mother said, pressing the button for the tenth floor. There was something in the way she said it that almost came across as if she was only willing to press the button because she needed it too, as if she would have refused to press the button for the 10th floor if she had needed any other. The door to the elevator shut and the elevator began to rise. This was an older building and thus an older elevator and it made a creaking noise as it began its accent.

The boy began alternating his gaze between the woman and his mother, looking slightly worried as if he was afraid his mother's reaction might cause problems. When the girl's mother looked puzzled, but said nothing, he relaxed. His gaze wandered over to the little girl she was holding and her stared at her with that interest that all children had upon seeing each other. As if she was aware she was being looked at, the girl turned her head and stared back at him, blue eyes and green eyes locking on each other. Then the little girl smiled. "Down, Mommy," she said. "Want down!"

The woman kissed her daughter's head and rubbed her back. "What do you say, sweetie?" she asked, in that same singsong voice.

The little girl thought for a moment, frowning as she thought about what her mother was requesting of her, then she broke into a grin. "Pease?" She nodded as if she knew she had found the right word. "Down, pease?"

The woman smiled and lowered the girl to the floor, but kept hold on her hand. The little girl stared at the little boy, still grinning as if he was her new best friend. The boy scowled, feeling slightly nervous to be the focus of so much attention.

"Jesus _Christ_ this elevator is taking a long time," the mother of the boy grumbled. Almost as if the elevator heard them, came to a lurching stop, but it wasn't at the tenth floor, the lights indicated it was the seventh floor. They waited for the doors to open, expecting someone to come on, then the elevator gave a lurch that seemed to indicate they went down instead of up. The lights blinked once, then went out and the mechanical hum of the elevator machinery stopped and an almost unearthly quiet filled the small space. A moment later, a couple smaller lights came on, which didn't really light up the elevator, just spread an eerie glow.

The four occupants of the elevator stared around at each other as if expecting someone to step forward and fix this problem, although how, no one was sure. The children weren't even sure what the problem was, or if there even was a problem. Their young lives hadn't included many elevator rides and for all they knew, this was normal. But the boy at least, was pretty sure it wasn't.

"God _damn it!"_ the boy's mother finally said, so loudly that the little girl and her mother jerked in surprise. The boy, however, did not. He was used to his mother's words exploding from her mouth at times. "I think the damned elevator is stuck."

"Press the emergency button," the girl's mother suggested.

"Gee, thank you, Ms. Einstein," the blonde snapped, rolling her eyes, "I _never_ would have figured that out." She jammed her finger into the red "Call" button. The moment she did, an alarm started ringing, not so loud that it was uncomfortable. It sounded like it was coming from further down. Just for good measure, the woman also poked at a few other buttons to see if that would magically fix the elevator. "Son-of-a-_bitch_," she fumed.

The little girl stared at the blonde woman and then ducked behind her mother's skirt, looking slightly afraid. The little boy looked at her, wondering why. The girl's mother opened her mouth as if to say something, then seemed to think better, and closed it.

Meanwhile, the blonde kept pressing the red emergency/call button, making the bell go off. When that didn't bring instant results, she started pushing at the open door button. "We're likely stuck between floors, but maybe not so much that we can't get out," she muttered. When the doors failed to open, she angrily went back to pressing the emergency/call button again. "What the _fuck!" _

This time the mother of the little girl spoke. "Excuse me," she said, her voice still sounding to the boy's ears as if she was singing them more than saying them, but with a slight edge to it as well. "I know this is upsetting, but can you please mind the language? There are children in here."

"So?" the blonde said, which was pretty much what her son was thinking too. "Not like they won't hear it soon enough," she added, pressing the button.

The auburn haired woman looked as if she might speak again, then changed her mind. She held her daughter's hand tightly. "Don't worry," she said, "Someone will hear the alarm and fix this, we won't be here long." She was obviously speaking to comfort the girl, but the boy found some comfort in those words as well.

"Yeah, they'll call in the national guard to save us," the blonde woman sneered. As if on cue, just as she finished speaking, came the sound of a phone ringing. "What the hell?"

"It's the phone," the other woman said, her voice gentle. She walked over, closer to the woman, letting go of her daughter's hand. The blonde woman was looking confused. The girl's mother pulled open a small door built into the elevator panel. To the boy and his mother's surprise, there was a phone receiver in there. The woman picked it up and put it to her ear. "Hello?"

The boy, his mother, and the little girl could hear someone talking to the woman, but the voice was muffled. The red haired woman was smiling though. "Yes, we're stuck," she said, and that melodious voice of hers. "But we're fine, no one is injured." She paused, listened, then spoke again. "We have two women here and two young children, that's all." Pause again. "Okay, I understand. Yes, we'll be all right. But, my daughter has an 11:00 appointment with Dr. Shaffer-"

"So does my son," the woman interrupted. "Well, actually it was for 10:45, we were running late."

"The other woman with me has an appointment for 10:45," the red haired woman said. "Yes, my name is Alice Nolan, my daughter is Cinnamon. The woman is-" She paused and looked at the boy's mother. "What's your name?"

"Why do you care?" the woman snapped.

Alice Nolan rolled her eyes and looked annoyed. "So they can tell the doctor's office not to worry that we're stuck in the elevator. Otherwise, they'll think we're both no call, no show."

"Fine," the woman said. "Donna Ambrose."

There was a moment of silence as Alice stared at the woman. When Donna remained silent, she closed her eyes for a moment, shook her head, and said, "And your son's name?"

"Dean," the woman said.

"Fine." Alice spoke back into the phone. "The woman with me is Donna Ambrose and her son is named Dean-"

"Not like they couldn't have figured out who it was," Donna muttered.

The muffled sound of someone talking on the other end of the phone line was heard again, and Alice listened, nodding. "Yes, thank you. Yes, we'll be fine. But we both would appreciate any help in getting us out of here as soon as possible. Yes, I understand, thank you." She hung up the phone.

"So?" Donna more demanded than asked, "What did they say?"

"They have a call in with the company that maintains the elevator," Alice Nolan said, her voice still calm. "The problem is a little more than they can handle, but they assured me they're doing everything possible to get us out of here."

"Sure they are." Donna snorted. "Like they give a damn about us."

Alice stared at her, and shook her head. "I'm sure they're very concerned about us," she finally said. "And, if you don't believe that, you can at least believe that they want to get this elevator working again. It's the only one in this building and it's 18 stories. No one wants to climb that many flights of stairs. There are a lot of doctor's offices on various floors too, patients who are less firm will need the elevator. Trust me, they will do everything they can to make sure this elevator is working as fast as possible."

While it was obvious nothing would convince Donna that anyone in the building cared about the occupants of the elevator, she looked slightly mollified at the idea that the lack of elevator would cause trouble for others in the building. "Did they give you an idea of how long this would take?"

Alice shook her head. "The gentleman told me they were doing everything they could to get us out as fast as possible and I have no reason not to believe him."

Donna rolled her eyes as if she couldn't believe how stupid Alice was. Alice herself went back over where her daughter was sitting having grown tired of standing.

"Hey honey," Alice said, sitting down next to her daughter. "Are you okay?"

"I don't like in here," the little girl said. "It's dark."

"Duh," Donna muttered.

Dean looked at his mother and frowned. He was used to her gruff attitude and he knew she wasn't feeling better, but this little girl, this...Cinnamon? Yeah, that was her name, Cinnamon, like the breakfast cereal he sometimes saw advertized on TV. Cinnamon was a little kid, probably younger than he was.

Donna caught Dean looking at her. "You have a problem?"

Dean shook his head and stepped away, closer to Cinnamon and her mom. Alice had scooped up the young girl and put her in her lap, so her back was leaning on her mother's stomach. Alice wrapped an arm around the girl.

Donna let out a loud sigh and started pacing. In the tiny space of the elevator, her nervous pacing made it seem like she was taking over the floor and Alice automatically shifted herself and her daughter so she was sitting cross legged. Dean shook his head, wishing his mother would stop. Why couldn't she just sit and be quiet like Alice Nolan?

After a few minutes of pacing, Donna pulled a package of cigarettes from her pocket. Shaking, she pulled one out of the pack and put it in her mouth. The noise of the lighter caught Alice's attention and she stared as Donna lit up the cigarette and took a long drag.

Donna exhaled the smoke through her nose and realized she was being stared at. "Something wrong?"

Alice pointed to a sign that neither of the children could read. "it says no smoking."

"Yeah? Well, that's fine when it's working. We're stuck and if I don't have a smoke, I'm not going to be very happy."

"But it's so tiny in here," Alice said, not backing down as she had before. "It's going to be a cloud in here if you keep doing that."

"Not my problem," Donna said, taking another big drag and blowing the smoke at the mother and daughter.

Dean closed his eyes for a moment, but showed no other reaction to his mother's rudeness. Alice stared at Donna as if she was debating if she should take the cigarette from her. Donna kept smoking, taking huge drags and blowing the smoke out as if she was trying to win a prize for how quickly she could fill up the tiny elevator car with blue smoke. Alice finally looked away from her, looking at the ceiling instead. There was a door in the ceiling. She stared at it so long that Donna finally looked at it.

"Hey!" Donna said, taking another drag from her cigarette, "The escape hatch!"

"Don't even think about it," Alice said, shaking her head. "We can't climb up there, we're not tall enough."

"Yeah, but I'll bet my kid could," Donna said.

Alice glared at her. "It's an elevator shaft! First, what's he doing to do, shimmy up the cable to the roof like Spider man? Second, there are electrical cords and other things that could kill him. If you want to try to climb up there yourself, fine, but your son stays here with us."

Dean stared at Alice in shock. He didn't understand all the words his mother and this woman had exchanged, but he got the general idea, his mother wanted him to do something and Alice Nolan wasn't going to let him because it was dangerous. Why would this stranger, this person who didn't know him, want to protect him? What was he to her?

"You don't tell me what I can do with my kid," Donna snapped and looked at Dean, "C'mere."

Dean headed over, knowing that to refuse her would be a bad idea. But before he got there, Alice stood up, putting her daughter down and got between him and his mother. "I thought I told you, if you want to try to get up there yourself, go for it, but your son stays here."

For a moment, Dean was sure his mother was going to hit Alice Nolan. He saw the fingers of her right hand curling into a fist, even saw her begin to move her arm. Alice stared at her, unflinching. Dean moved closer to the little girl, to Cinnamon. He had seen his mother hit people before, it was never pretty.

Alice just stared at her, right into her eyes as if challenging Donna, as if she wanted Donna to hit her, not because she wanted to be hit, but because it would give her an excuse to go crazy on the woman. Donna hesitated, not knowing if Alice might be stronger than she looked. Then she dropped the cigarette she was smoking on the floor of the elevator and crushing it out. She lowered her fist. "He's my son," she muttered.

Alice was really staring at her now, looking in her eyes as if she was seeing something in them, something Dean had seen before but had no name for. Something twitchy and dark, like a nasty little beast that wanted, no needed to be fed. Donna stared back at her, sniffling several times. She tried to look away from Alice, but the intensity of Alice's gaze kept drawing her back. "What's your problem?" she finally snapped.

"For the sake of your son, you really need to stop," Alice said, cryptically. "He deserves a mother who doesn't nod off."

Dean stared between the two women. How did Alice know his mom needed medicine? How did she know that when she got medicine, she would often nod off. Was Alice Nolan a doctor or something?

"Fuck you," Donna said, but she didn't deny the accusations either. "I've got it under control."

"Yeah, that's why you're shaking and your eyes are jumping around in their sockets," Alice said scornfully, "Look, if it were just you, that's fine, but doesn't your son deserve better?"

Donna snorted. "You're a fine one to judge me, Ganja girl." She looked Alice up and down, taking in her outfit. "Bet you and your _bud_ have had some _high_ times together." She raised her fingers in the air to put imaginary quotes around "bud" and "high."

Now Dean and Cinnamon were staring at the two women, not understanding a word of what they were saying. Dean found himself moving closer to the young girl, suddenly wondering if his mother and hers would fight and if he'd have to protect her. He had done that before, gotten his younger cousin out of the room when things got rough and before they might be dragged into it. He looked around the elevator, realizing there was no place to go, so he stood in front of the girl, putting his back to her, so he could watch the women.

"I haven't touched any _bud_ or had any _high_ times since the day I found out I was pregnant," Alice said, putting her own air quotes around the words. "Because that's the day I realized if I was going to bring a child into this world, I owed it to her to be the best mother I could."

"Yeah, sure," Donna snorted. "Your kid was such a blessed event."

"She was," Alice said. "And even if she wasn't, I still would have thought so when she was born. Doesn't your son deserve a mother who isn't an addict?"

Dean had heard that word before, addict. It was something his father yelled at his mother sometimes and she yelled it right back. He wasn't sure what it meant, but he had figured out it had something to do with the medicine his mom and her friends always seemed to need, he also knew it wasn't a nice word either. He felt confused, part of him admiring Alice for standing up to his mother, but part of him feeling he really should defend her. He felt a tug at his pants and whirled around. Cinnamon was staring at him. "What?"

"Why they fight?" she asked, a slight tremble in her voice as she pointed at the two mothers.

He shrugged, not knowing why they were arguing, but he wanted to assure the girl he was here for her. "Don't worry, I'll protect you."

She looked at him as if she wasn't quite convinced he could live up to that promise, but said nothing.

"I have it under control," Donna repeated. "I'm just uptight being in this elevator. God, can't they get us out?" She fumbled for her cigarettes again.

"Stop!" Alice reached out and put her hand over Donna's wrist, stopping her from getting a cigarette out of her pack.

"You better take your hand off me, right now," Donna said, her voice low and calm, but there was something in that voice, as if the beast that lived just behind her eyes was speaking.

Dean moved closer to Cinnamon. He had heard the beast talk before, and usually after the beast spoke, the words stopped and the actions began.

"No!" Alice said quickly. "I want those. Give me your cigarettes and I'll give you something better."

Donna's other arm, the one not holding the cigarettes was curled up in a fist again, and she was raising it, but when she heard the word "better" she stopped. "What are you talking about?"

Alice shifted so her purse was in front of her and let go of Donna's hand. Her purse was a huge thing, brightly colored. She felt around until she pulled out a small yellowish brown bottle with a white lid, one that Dean knew doctor medicine came in. Doctor medicine was different from the medicine his mom and her friends brought home, but his mom stared at the little bottle with an eager look on her face. "I had a broken arm about a year ago," Alice explained. "The pain was really bad, so the doctor gave me Vicodin. But it made me so stupid that I only took it at night to fall asleep. I still have five or six in here."

Donna stared at the bottle with a look of longing and hunger that was raw and painful. The beast in her eyes and voice was almost salivating. "Give me one," she demanded.

"Give me your cigarettes and I'll give you one," Alice said calmly.

"That's not fair!"

"Yes it is," Alice disagreed. "You give me your cigarettes, I give you one Vicodin. But, when we get out of here, I'll give you back your cigarettes and give you the rest of the bottle. As long as you promise me you won't take another one until you're home. I don't want you driving around with your boy, high."

"We took the bus," Donna said, not taking her eyes off the bottle. "But, whatever, it's a deal." She handed the cigarettes to Alice, who popped them in her purse. Alice opened the bottle, shook out one pill and handed it to her. Donna took it and swallowed it quickly. "You better not mess me over when we're out of this. I get the rest of the bottle and the smokes, right?"

The look in Alice's eyes was one of shame, but she nodded. "I keep my promises." She put the lid back on the bottle and put it in her pocket. Then, she walked back over to her daughter and Dean. "Thank you," she said, smiling at Dean.

Dean knew that Alice had figured out he was protecting her daughter and moved away quickly, not sure if she was really grateful for his protection. Sometimes his mother sneered at him when she had discovered he and his cousin hiding in his room.

Alice sat on the floor and put her daughter back in her lap, but sideways this time, so Cinnamon's legs dangled off her mother's. She leaned up against her mother's chest and looked at Dean. "I Cinnamon," she said.

"I'm Dean," Dean mumbled.

"I had a ear ache," Cinnamon continued. "I had to take big, pink pills, but they're all gone an' I feel better now. But I have to go to the doctor, anyway."

"I'm not sick," Dean said. "I don't know why I have to go to the doctor."

"It's your physical," Donna snapped. She wasn't pacing, but she still looked uptight. "But you won't have to go today. When we get out of here, we're going home. I'll take you another day."

Alice looked as if she might say something, but the phone rang again. This time, Donna answered it. "Yeah!" The conversation Donna had with whoever was on the other end seemed a bit more one sided that Alice's conversation had been, with very few pauses to hear what the other person was saying. "Yeah, how long? What? You're kidding. The fire department can't get here any sooner? Isn't it their job to rescue people trapped in an elevator or something? Funny, I'd better pay my taxes on time, but when I need service, I don't get it very quickly. We got two really sick kids who need to see the fucking doctor." Pause. "That long? Sonofabitch, these kids could die in this elevator, but you don't give a fuck, do you?" Pause. "Yeah, well, hurry." She slammed the phone back in the receiver and slumped onto the floor saying nothing.

When she stayed silent, Alice spoke up. "So, what did they say?"

Donna stared at her. "They said the repairmen just arrived and they think they can fix it. They have a call in with the fire department, but they can't send anyone over for an hour or so. So we're stuck." While she still was aggravated, there was a little less tension in her eyes. Clearly the Vicodin was working and it was calming down that angry little beast. "Are you sure I can't have my smokes back?"

"Not until we're rescued," Alice said.

"Shit," Donna muttered. She leaned against the wall, but said nothing else.

A few minutes passed with no one speaking. Then Dean started to hear something, sounds like metal hitting metal, very faint but still, he did hear them. He looked over at Alice and Cinnamon who both had their heads tipped to one side. "You hear it?" he asked. He didn't look at his mother, sometimes she didn't hear things as well as he did.

Alice nodded, smiling at Dean.

"Is it kay?" Cinnamon asked.

Alice nodded. "This means they're working on the elevator, trying to fix it so we can get out of here," she explained, wrapping her arms around her daughter and hugging her tightly.

Dean nodded. He was looking at Cinnamon's hair. It was lighter and brighter than her mothers and it reminded him of something, but he didn't know what.

"I want to leave," Cinnamon said, sniffling a little. "I don't like it here."

"Welcome to the club," Donna said, snorting. "First intelligent thing to come out of your mouth, there's hope for you, yet."

Dean looked at the floor. Cinnamon was a little kid, younger than him, why did his mother have to be so mean? He looked at Alice, wondering if she would yell at his mother.

Alice ignored Donna and hugged Cinnamon tighter. "I know you're bored, honey. How about if I sing you a song?"

Dean's ears perked up. He liked the radio and sometimes when his mother was really happy, she sang. She didn't sing as good as the people on the radio did, but he generally associated singing with people being happy. He felt this elevator could use a little happiness about now.

"What you gonna sing?" Cinnamon asked, looking at her mom.

"Do you have something you want to hear?" Alice asked. Cinnamon shook her head. Alice looked over at Dean, which startled him. "Do you have any songs you want to hear?"

Dean shook his head quickly. He did have songs he liked, but he couldn't think of any of them now.

"That's fine." Alice looked up at the ceiling, thinking for a moment, then smiled. "How about this one?" She leaned back, and started singing:

_Sugar magnolia, blossoms blooming, heads all empty and I don't care,_

_Saw my baby down by the river, knew she'd have to come up soon for air._

Dean stared, amazed. This woman sounded as good as any voice that came out of the radio, maybe better than some! He had never heard that before, people who sounded as good as the radio or TV. He always thought that they did something vaguely magical to make people sound so good when they sang, but nope, apparently those folks singing on the radio and TV were just _good_. The song was soft and mellow, and even though he wasn't sure of all the words, he just felt nice hearing it, like the song was written to make you feel better when you heard it.

"Oh Ke-rist, the Grateful Fucking Dead," Donna said, but she looked more amused than angry. She shook her head, laughing. "Figures, Ganja girl would sing the Gratefuckngful Dead."

Dean stared at his mother and so did Cinnamon, but Alice ignored her and kept right on singing:

_Sweet blossom come on, under the willow, we can have high times if you'll abide  
We can discover the wonders of nature, rolling in the rushes down by the riverside._

Then, much to his surprise, Cinnamon joined in with her mother at the next part, clapping her hands. She didn't seem to know all the words, but she knew enough of them. Dean was amazed, how had this little girl learned to do that? To sing such a complicated song with a lot of hard words:

_She's got everything delightful, she's got everything I need,  
Takes the wheel when I'm seeing double, pays my ticket when I speed_

Dean wanted to ask her how she knew the song, how she had learned it, but he didn't want to interrupt, so he listened. On the next part, Cinnamon stopped singing and just listened, but her head moved in time with the music:

_She comes skimmin' through rays of violet, she can wade in a drop of dew,  
She don't come and I don't follow, waits backstage while I sing to you._

_Well, she can dance a Cajun rhythm, jump like a willys in four wheel drive.  
She's a summer love for spring, fall and winter. She can make happy any man alive_.

_Sugar magnolia, ringing that bluebell, caught up in sunlight, come on out singing  
I'll walk you in the sunshine, come on honey, come along with me._

_She's got everything delightful, she's got everything I need,  
A breeze in the pines and the sun and bright moonlight, lazing in the sunshine yes indeed._

_Sometimes when the cuckoo's crying, when the moon is half way down,  
Sometimes when the night is dying, I take me out and I wander around, I wander 'round._

"Wow!" Dean said, when they were done. "You sing like ladies on the radio!"

"Thank you," Alice said, smiling at the boy. "I like to sing. I took lessons when I was younger."

"Sing another one!" Dean said, not realizing that he was demanding, not really asking

Alice smiled. "All right." She thought again and then broke into another song, this one about her Uncle John who had a band, which he liked too. And after that she sang another song, this one about a truck, which was _really_ cool, because it was about a truck, but it wasn't a little kid song, it was an adult song.

Donna was leaning against the wall by the panel, her eyelids heavy, but she was quiet and said nothing until the phone rang again. She reached up, fumbling until she got the door open and the receiver out, then brought it to her ear. The singing stopped while she spoke. "Yeah?" Pause. "Yeah, we're still here." Pause. "Yeah, I'd like to get out before Hippie Mom turns my son into some pansy flower child with all her goddamned Grateful Dead singing." Pause. "Okay, that's cool. Hurry up though, any moment she's gonna start singing Casey Jones." She stood up to hang up the phone.

"I don't sing Casey Jones," Alice said, the faint trace of a grin on both her face and in her voice. "It's too cliche and my least favorite of all Grateful Dead songs."

"Says the woman who sang, 'Truckin'," Donna said, but her tone wasn't vicious, more as if she was either resigned that she was stuck on an elevator with a human Mockingbird, or actually kind of enjoying it, but didn't want to admit it. "The fire department just arrived, they're going to bust us out of here, soon."

The words were barely out of her mouth, when there was a pounding that sounded like it was coming from just above them. "ARE YOU ALL RIGHT?" A voice screamed.

"WE'RE FINE!" Alice said, in the loudest voice Dean had heard her use, so he was a little startled.

"GREAT!" the call came back. "I'M FROM THE FIRE DEPARTMENT AND WE'RE GOING TO GET YOU OUT SOON, JUST HANG TIGHT."

The four of them looked at each other as if confirming with each other that they had heard the words correctly. Then Alice yelled back, "THANK YOU!"

Nobody spoke anymore, and the sounds of banging got louder. Dean looked over at Cinnamon, knowing that they would soon be out of her and knowing he would likely never see the girl again. He had been staring at her hair on and off, trying to think of what the color reminded him of. He wanted to do something else, too, but had been afraid. But knowing time was short, he decided to take a chance. He reached out and touched her hair, gently, lightly, running his fingertips over it.

She stared at him and he waited for her to shriek or cry, but she didn't, she just looked at him, eyes wide and round. Alice smiled. "She does have pretty hair, doesn't she?"

Dean nodded and started to say something, but was interrupted by a thud coming from above and then the sound of the escape hatch door being opened. They all looked up and the face of a man appeared above them, smiling. "Hey, folks, stand back, I'm coming down."

After all the waiting, things started happening quickly once the fireman came down. Above them was another fireman and soon enough, Cinnamon was handed up from the first to the second. Then it was Dean's turn and he was passed up. He was aware he was in a small square place that the ceiling seemed miles away. He was handed to someone else, who lifted him over his head and then someone was looking in through a set of elevator doors that were opened into this little space. He was grabbed again by this man and when he put him down, Dean was in the hall. Cinnamon was there too, looking anxious. A woman who was dressed like the firemen was talking to her, letting her know her mother would be coming out shortly. Dean walked over to her.

"You okay, Cinny?" he asked.

She nodded. "I want my mommy, though, " she murmured softly.

As if she had been granted a wish, her mother's head appeared and the same man who had helped Dean out of the elevator shaft was helping Alice in. The fire-woman held onto both children's arms tightly. When she got into the hall, she stepped out of the way quickly. Only when Alice was safely in the hall did the fire-woman let go. Alice dropped to her knees and held her arms out. Cinnamon went running, throwing herself into them. "Mommy!"

Dean stood there, wondering why Cinnamon's mother still had one arm open, then he realized she was giving him permission to hug her and he was amazed. His own mother rarely hugged him, yet Cinnamon's mother was willing to give him a hug and she hardly knew him. He walked over hesitantly, but when he was close enough, Alice pulled him into her so the three of them were hugging. "You both were such brave, wonderful, children," Alice said. "I'm so proud of you both!" She kissed the top of Cinnamon's head, then Dean's and for a moment, Dean wanted to wrap his arms around both of them, cling on tightly and never let go.

Then his mother was there and she didn't look too happy about the group hug going on. She grabbed Dean's hand and pulled him away and looked at Alice. "You owe me," she said softly.

Alice stood up, nodding. She reached into her purse and pulled out the package of cigarettes and the yellow/brown medicine bottle. Dean noticed they were trying to make sure no one in the hall (and there were a lot of people around) saw the bottle. His mother took it, keeping it covered with her palm and quickly pocketed it. Alice suddenly wrapped her arm around his mother and whispered in her ear, but Dean heard it. "Don't you dare take another one until your son is safe. And try to get some help, okay? If not for yours, then for your son's sake."

Dean didn't understand what she meant by that, but he had a feeling it had something to do with his mom liking medicine and that addict word. He thought it was nice of Alice to say something, but he also knew it wouldn't do any good and when the two women drifted apart and he saw the smirk on his mother's face, he knew he was right.

There were a lot of people around, asking if they were okay, but it wasn't long before it was clear that all four of them were fine and they were allowed to leave. Both women headed for the stairs, Dean and his mother to go down, Cinnamon and hers to go up.

"Pennies!" Dean said suddenly as they were near the ground floor.

"Pennies?" His mother stared at him as if he'd managed to grow himself a second head. "What do you mean, pennies?"

Dean smiled. "Cinnamon's hair. It's the color of new pennies," he explained. "I knew it was the color of something, but I couldn't remember what!" He almost wished he could run back into the building, find her, and tell her. Although she probably already knew that.

"Who cares?" his mother said.

"I do," Dean said, a bit defiantly. "I like the color. I think it's pretty."

"Just beautiful," his mother mumbled.

"She's pretty," Dean said stubbornly, determined to be disagreeable to his mother. "She's very pretty.'

"Fucking beautiful," His mother muttered, clearly wanting to end the subject. "Maybe someday you'll marry her."

The End.

**Author's Notes: Again, I have not abandoned _The Girl Who Lives_, I assure you of that. I meant to just jot down the idea for this, figuring I'd work on it later, but for some reason, my muse wanted to write it and made it clear that until I did, it would sulk in a corner and not help me at all with _The Girl Who Lives_. I often picture my muse as a spoiled rotten little girl who has to have it her way and her way alone. I both love and hate her. Her name is Aoide. I named her so that when I swear at her, I can distinguish her from other people in the room, including friends, cats, and S/O, so they don't get snippy with me. **

**Again, though Ablivion's story, Trapped in an Elevator With the Shield is what inspired this. I mention it so now that you're finished with this story, you can go read that one, because it's always good to follow up one elevator story with another. **

**The song Alice Nolan sang was Sugar Magnolia by The Grateful Dead. My mother used to sing that to me, along with Uncle John's Band, Truckin', Ripple, and many others. **

**Before people say, "How come Dean doesn't remember meeting Cinnamon" or vice versa, keep in mind that they were both pretty young. I've heard stories of people who dated, got married, and then found out later they were in the same first grade class or something. And if you're thinking, "But this was a traumatic experience, of course they would remember it!" Not necessarily. When I was five, I got covered in ladybugs. I mean covered. My dad sat me on a log on the beach and then he turned around and instead of a kid, he had what looked like a statue of a kid entirely covered in ladybugs. Apparently they go in my clothes, down my throat, in my eyes, in my ears. I don't remember any of it. I never even developed a fear of ladybugs (I actually won't kill them if they get in my house, I take them outside) I figure if I could have no memory of that incident, Dean and Cinnamon could completely forget about being stuck in an elevator together as children. But, the softer side of me likes to think that maybe, subconsciously, they did recognize each other, that's why they were so attracted to each other when they met. **

**Please R/R if you're so inclined. Again, I know I'm a broken record, but it's the reviews that keep me going. So... do you want me to beg? Okay. "Pretty please, with sugar on top? c'mon, please?"  
**

**Can I get off my knees now? **

**Till next time...  
Peace Out**

**Willow**


	10. Chance Encounters 1 of 2

**Chance Encounters**

**Part 1 of 2**

Cursing, if only to herself, Cinnamon twisted the key in the ignition one last time, the part of her mind not focused on cursing, offering up silent prayers that for once, luck would go her way and the ancient Honda she sat it would start. Proving that if indeed a divine being existed that he or she had absolutely no time for Cinnamon Nolan, or her infant son, the car made one whining noise that sounded almost like a cough of protest, then went to making nothing but a clicking noise.

Cinnamon lowered her head until her forehead was hitting the steering wheel and fought back the tears. Nothing was going right today, absolutely nothing. Things kept going from bad to worse to horrible. _No, not absolutely everything,_ the sunny, optimistic part of her personality, the part of her that was normally an old friend, but today had been making itself scarce, _Neil is still sound asleep, that has to count for something! _

As if she had spoken the words out loud, perhaps even bellowed them, her infant son woke up and started screaming at the top of his lungs, going from "Pleasant, beautiful, sleeping, baby boy" to "Code Ten Disaster Shrieking machine" in less time than it took for Cinnamon to raise her head from the steering wheel and twist around to make sure there wasn't an obvious reason why he was screaming, such as a platter sized brown recluse spider, riding on the back of at 50 foot anaconda, which was about the only reason Cinnamon could think of for the noise he was producing.

_That's not fair and you know it! _another part of her brain scolded her. This was Good Mommy brain, the part of her that wanted so _badly_ to be a perfect parent, like the ones who hung out on the parenting message boards and chat rooms she sometimes went to on the internet. Mommies who made their kids diapers and breast fed their kids until they were past toddler hood, who always had an answer for everything. God, Cinnamon wanted to be that type of mother, but she wasn't. She was young, she had no family besides Neil, Neil's father had left her or she had kicked him out, depending on how you looked at it, before she'd even had a chance to tell him she was pregnant, and she was a mess. No college scholarship anymore, she worked as a waitress. She had a roommate, Lynn, who helped her so much with Neil, but it wasn't quite the same as having family. She wanted to at least breastfeed Neil, and was doing it, but between work and stress, she already was supplementing with formula. And now her son, her _three month old son_ was sick and her car battery and possibly her alternator was dead and if that wasn't failure parenting, she didn't know what was.

_Stop it_, she ordered herself, yelling at Perfect Mommy voice, too. That bitch wasn't going to be of any use right now, because Perfect Mommies _never_ got into these situations. Perfect Mommies had cars with batteries that worked. Perfect Mommies children never got sick and if they did, Perfect Mommies could kiss them and they magically got well. Cinnamon was not a perfect Mommy, so she had done what she could and taken Neil to the clinic. Which meant missing her shift at the restaurant, the shift that she was hoping would pay for a new battery for the car. _ Stop that too_, she told herself. _Stop thinking of what you **should** have done, what you **wish** you'd done, whatever, just look at the facts, assess the situation._

The situation was not good, no matter how she looked at it. She was stranded in one of the worse areas of the city, near the projects, the _bad_ projects too, not the nicer ones that housed mostly elderly and single mothers of small children. These were run down and dilapidated and almost every square inch was covered with graffiti, and not the nice stuff either, where you could tell the person doing it had artistic talent, this was the obscene graffiti, the stuff that started with letters like C and P. _Thank god Neil is too young to read_, Cinnamon thought. And even though she was trying so hard not to play the coulda/shoulda/woulda game, she couldn't help but scold herself for being in this mess. She'd taken Neil to the clinic, which was just on the outskirts of the projects, which was why she could afford to take Neil there. She had been the last patient seen and the Nurse Practitioner had been about the only person in there by the time she was ready to leave with Neil and the woman had practically shoved her out the door, telling her the scripts she needed for Neil ("It's just a cold, I called in for some cough syrup and something to help with the fever") were called into the drugstore on the corner. The drugstore was further into area than she would have liked, but the car had worked then. She had stupidly decided to cut through the projects, rather than go around to save time. Now she was in this mess. And she couldn't go back to the drugstore, because they had been closing too.

_And of course, my cell phone service was cut off two days ago,_ she thought, wanting to burst into tears. She had assessed the situation, she was in a bad part of town, really the _worst_ part of town. She had a sick infant screaming in the back seat, and she had no way to call for help. Her car was DOA and she had no clue what to do. She wasn't even sure if it was the battery or the alternator anymore. She had just managed to coast to the side of the street. Now she was stuck.

_What's around here?_ She thought, trying to remember, which wasn't easy because this wasn't an area she frequented. She had known a couple of people who had grown up in this area, one of them being Neil's father, but he didn't live here anymore, at least she was pretty sure he didn't. And the girl she had known who lived in this area with her parents, she had rarely visited here. They had been childhood friends and had spent more time at Cinnamon's house, with Cinnamon's family, than Cinnamon had spent with hers.

She peered around, looking through the darkness. Even the streetlights in this area were mostly non-functioning, but off in the distance, peeping out from a couple of buildings, she could make out some light that vaguely looked like it might be a sign. _Gas station or convenient store,_ she thought. _Maybe they'll have a payphone, or if not, they'll let me use their phone. It's a long shot, but at this point, it's the **only** shot._

The last thing she wanted to do was walk around this area at night, but she really had no choice. Drawing in a deep breath, she got out of the car, locking it. Then she walked to the right side passenger's door and opened that up, unfastening her screaming son from his car seat. The moment her arms were around him, his screaming died down to a whimper, as if all he had really been looking for, was comfort. "Hey, sweetie," she murmured, holding him in one arm as she locked and shut the door with the other. "Poor baby, not feeling well and now stuck with this. Just your luck, you got stuck with less-than-perfect, Mommy. But, don't worry, Neil, we'll go to that store and call Lynn. She'll come get us."

With the door shut, she was able to put both of her arms around Neil and he snuggled into her, his whimpering calming down, slightly. Neil was such a good baby normally, almost never crying, but he had a cold and she couldn't fault him for being out of sorts, poor thing. "We'll get you safe and sound soon, baby. I promise." She kissed the top of his head as she left the street for the sidewalk, noticing that not one car had come down this street since her own had died.

It was March, and spring had been taking it's sweet time in coming. There were still patches of ice and dirty gray snow around. She was wearing her white Keds, about the only shoes she ever wore. They had rubber soles, but they weren't designed for ice, so she picked her way carefully down the street, holding Neil closely, trying to keep him warm with her own body heat, and keeping her eyes focused on the light ahead, a beacon that might be the answer to her prayers. Cinnamon was not a religious woman, but she was a spiritual one, and while she didn't believe in God, as the Christian bible taught him to be, she did believe, especially in moments of stress, that there were forces beyond what mankind was aware of, and it never hurt to call upon a little help when needed.

She was so focused on keeping Neil safe and getting to the lights, that she didn't even notice a group of young men, hanging out on one of the stoops she was starting to walk past them, but unfortunately, they noticed her. Almost instantly, they moved off the stoop and surrounded her. "Hey, lady, where you going?" one of them asked.

Cinnamon looked at the person who addressed her, a giant of a man, standing well over six feet tall. Neil's father had been 6'4" so she was used to tall men, but this person seemed to loom even taller than Mox. And this guy was huge too. Not all muscular, but husky, a combination of muscle and fat. Cinnamon knew by instinct that he was the leader of this group, so she tried to be diplomatic. "I'm just trying to get to a pay phone." She smiled, her arms curling tighter around her son.

"Well, what's your hurry?" the leader asked as the group, there were five of them, moved in closer.

"Yeah, don't you want to stick around a bit?" another one called out. "Get to know us a little better?" This brought a few short barks of laughter from another one.

"No, really, I have to get to a phone," Cinnamon tried to keep her voice even, not to show fear. "My car broke down."

"And you don't have a cell phone?" the leader asked, then shook his head in mock sadness. "That's irresponsible. I thought all white people had cell phones." He looked to another member of the group. "Don't you have a cell phone, Tommy?"

Tommy, a stringy kid who looked like he'd eaten his last decent meal sometime around the turn of the century, nodded and pulled a cell phone out of his pocket. "Got it right here, Mad Dog," he said. "I never go anywhere without it."

"See?" Mad Dog said, a smile curling his lips. "Even Tommy got_ his_ cell phone on him. Where's yours, pretty lady?"

"I left it at home," Cinnamon confessed, trying to fight the growing panic. She was one woman, holding a baby, and there were five guys surrounding her. She shivered as a cold breeze blew around her, cutting into the jacket she wore, as if it were made of tissue paper.

"That was stupid and irresponsible," Mad Dog said and again, shook his head as if he couldn't believe what he was hearing. The cold wind wasn't bothering him at all, and Cinnamon had the feeling he'd stood outside in far worse weather situations.

"It isn't working anyway," Cinnamon continued, more out of nerves than a desire to share information. "I got cut off, due to lack of payment."

"Aww, that's too bad." Mad Dog yet again shook his head. "Well, maybe Tommy can let you use his phone, would that help?"

Even though part of her knew this was stupid, that they were setting her up, the optimist in Cinnamon found herself nodding. "Yes, that would be wonderful." She looked over at Tommy. "Would you mind?"

"You don't ask Tommy, you ask me," Mad Dog said. "It's Tommy's phone, but _I_ decide if he should let you use it or not."

"All right," Cinnamon smiled, what she hoped was a fearless smile, but suspecting it was nervous instead. "Would you let Tommy lend me his phone so I can call for help?"

Mad Dog frowned as if thinking about this heavily, then nodded. "All right, I guess that's okay, as long as you let me hold your baby there. I wouldn't want you to drop him while you're making your phone call."

Cinnamon froze and clutched Neil tighter. If there was one thing she _couldn't_ do, _wouldn't_ do, it was hand Neil, her only child, her only family, over to this "Mad Dog" for five seconds. "No," she finally managed to say, "That's all right, I'll just walk up to the corner there, and see if they can let me use their phone."

"Chick ain't very friendly," another one called out.

"I know," Mad Dog said, then turned his attention back to Cinnamon. "Scott's right, that isn't very friendly of you, lady. I like kids." He moved even closer, and reached out as if to try to take Neil from her by force.

"No!" Cinnamon twisted away from him, but the other four boys began closing in around her, blocking her from making any type of escape. Panic, both hot and cold, raced through her as she realized they had her trapped and all she could do was cling tighter to Neil, who started to wail loudly, not used to being held so tightly, She found her shoulders slumping as if she could form a protective ball around Neil, draw him so far to her that maybe he'd even go back into the protection of her womb. "Leave me alone, I just want to get some help, leave me _alone!"_

"We're all the help you're gonna get," Mad Dog said, and the mock friendly tone was gone in his voice and he was speaking louder, angrier, to be heard above Neil's pitiful sobs. "So, hand over the kid, treat us right, and maybe, just _maybe,_ Tommy will let you use his phone."

"No!" Cinnamon refused to look at Mad Dog, just kept holding Neil as tight as she could, refusing to stop, even though he was screaming loudly now, wanting to stop being held so tightly, and no doubt feeling her fear. Part of her even hoped that maybe his wailing would attract someone, anyone, who could help her, get these young men away from her.

As if a prayer was answered, the front door to the stoop the young men had been standing on was flung open so hard that Cinnamon could hear the door knob hit the wall adjacent to it with a loud crack, and a woman's voice filled the night, harsh, gravelly and demanding, "What the _fuck_ are you boys doing?"

Cinnamon refused to look up, still hunched over, trying to protect Neil, grateful to the woman, but afraid these men would laugh at a lone woman trying to stop them. But she sensed Mad Dog moving away from her. Unable to support herself, so hunched over and so wracked with fear, Cinnamon fell to her knees, still holding Neil who was still screaming. "Help me," she whispered.

"Hey, Ms. A, calm down," Mad Dog said, and he sounded, of all things, _nervous_.

Cinnamon sensed that the other four men were backing away from her too. What was it about this woman that could cause these five guys to back off? She turned her head slightly and looked in the direction of the doorway, still holding Neil so tightly mindless of his screaming. The reason for the fear the young men showed was obvious the moment she looked.

The woman, tall and stringy as Tommy, was holding a rifle, a sawed off shotgun, really, pointed right at Mad Dog and from the look on her face, lit up from the dim light spilling out of the hallway, she wouldn't mind an excuse to use it. "I've had enough of your _shit,_ Mad Dog," the woman said. "Back off, go find a hole to crawl into, and leave this woman alone, do you hear me?" She stood on the stoop, defiantly pointing the gun at him. "And if any of you other freaks want to be brave and touch that girl, go for it, I'll blow Mad Dog to hell and then you and the fucking city will probably give me a medal for my troubles, so go ahead and try me!"

"Ms. A, don't be stupid," Mad Dog said, his voice taking on a cajoling tone, "we were just having fun, we weren't gonna hurt her, just scare her a bit."

"Yeah? Well, not on my watch," Ms. A, declared, still pointing the gun at him, right at his head. "You heard me, get the fuck out of here and leave her and her baby alone. And if I ever catch you anywhere near her again, I won't kill you, I'll just blow your balls off and let you live your life as the dickless wonder you should be. Now get the fuck _out_ of here!"

"But we _live_ here," Tommy whined.

"Not right now you don't," Ms. A said, not even glancing in Tommy's direction. "Right now you live anywhere _but_ here. Maybe later you can live here, but for now, you live somewhere, _anywhere_ else, and I suggest you go there, right, _now!"_

That was the only argument given. Realizing that Ms. A had the sawed off shotgun, and thus the upper hand, they took off, running down the street.

Cinnamon stayed on her knees, not daring to move, part of her wondering if she really had been rescued, or if she and Neil were in even worse trouble. She wanted so badly to believe this "Ms. A" was a savior, but she _was_ holding a gun. Now that Mad Dog and his group were gone, would she turn on her and Neil? Demand money and get furious when she realized that Cinnamon had exactly three dollars, a nickle and a few pennies and some kid's medicine in her pocket? And not even decent medicine either, not by street standards. She had a fever reducer and a bottle of kid's cough syrup.

"You okay?" Ms. A. asked, once the men were well down the street. She shifted the gun so it was pointing into the air, rather than at the ground and stepped off the stoop, walking over to her. "They're gone now, it's okay. No one is going to hurt you."

Cinnamon slowly uncurled her body, straightening herself out, and stood up, daring to loosen her grip on Neil only slightly, only enough that her son didn't feel like he was being suffocated. Swallowing, she nodded. "I'm okay," she said, although she did _not_ feel okay, she was still frightened and part of her mind kept playing what could have happened, had her tall, stringy, angel with a sawed off shot gun not come along to help her. "Gotta… get a phone," she mumbled, "car broke down."

"Yeah, I figured it had to be something like that," Ms. A said, looking at her. "You're a far ways from home and nobody goes strolling around this neighborhood at night." She paused as if thinking, then sighed as if coming to a conclusion she wasn't sure of. "You'd better come with me, I have a phone you can use."

Cinnamon didn't hesitate, she merely nodded and followed the woman into the building. Maybe Ms. A was crazy, but, she had rescued her and Neil from Mad Dog and his crew, who might be waiting now, at that very corner she had been heading for. She would be better off to trust Ms. A. Beside, if Ms. A was out for robbery, she would have likely made her move already. And if she wanted the three dollars in Cinnamon's pocket? Cinnamon would happily hand it over. Even if she didn't ask, Cinnamon already planned on giving her the money to thank her for letting her use the phone.

End of Part One.

* * *

_**Author's Notes: I wrote story! Don't laugh, writer's block has been nipping at my heels like an angry dog. I have two ideas I've been working on, playing that game of writing a sentence, then having to walk away or do something else while I think of the next sentence. Then, this idea came to me the other day, and for the first time in a long time, I sat down and started writing and it felt right.**_

_**Whether or not it is right is up to my readers to decide. I hope you enjoy it, and I hope even more you take the time to tell me what you thought. As usual, if you want to be critical, I can take it. I'm not guaranteeing I'll believe what you say, but I will take it under advisement. If you don't wish to be critical in public, you can PM me. Flames, however, will either be ignored of dealt accordingly. Anyone who knows me, knows I don't tolerate fools who hide behind keyboards easily.**_

_**But for everyone else who's read this far? Thank you. And if you take the time to let me know what you thought, even if it's just a simple, "liked it" I would appreciate it.**_

_**Until Next Time  
Peace Out  
Willow**_


	11. Chance Encounters 2 of 2

**Chance Encounters**

_Part 2 of 2_

Mrs. A and Cinnamon walked up four flights of stairs, the hallways smelling like a combination of piss, sweat, cabbage and onions. Cinnamon tried not to give any indication that she found the smells repulsive. _Less smelly than some of Neil's diaper changes_, she told herself. When they got to the fourth floor, the woman stopped before one of the identical doors that lined either side of the hall and opened it. "C'mon in."

Cinnamon walked in behind her, to a kitchen that was worn and shabby, but spotlessly clean and smelling heavily of the dollar store knock-off of Pine-Sol. Cinnamon knew the smell well, she used the same thing herself. She looked around, noting that the cabinets were cheap press board, probably at one point covered with a paper thin veneer wood grain, likely peeled off from years of use, now painted white and the doors covered in contact paper, also white, but with a pattern of tiny, pastel flowers. The refrigerator looked like it might have come off the set of a sitcom set in the 1970's, except it was battered and worn, but the chrome handle gleamed in the harsh fluorescent light that served to show both how shabby it was, and how clean too. Cinnamon felt like she could have put Neil on the worn, tan, linoleum floor, and not worried he'd get a spec of dirt on him.

"Hang on a sec," Ms. A said, and walked out of the kitchen, into what was likely the living room. Cinnamon heard her stop and then heard a noise like something scraping on wood, like she was removing something from an end table. Then, she heard her walk across the room, go into another room. Less than a minute later, she was back in the doorway to the kitchen and the shotgun gone. "Phone is in the living room," she said, with a small jerk of her head, inviting Cinnamon to join her.

The living room was the same story as the kitchen, worn, shabby, the nondescript brown carpet almost threadbare, but just like the kitchen, it was spotlessly clean. There was a sofa and two armchairs all three pieces looking like they had either been bought at a Salvation Army "last chance" sale, or caged from the street before a trash collector could get to them. As if to make up for how worn and tired they looked, the three of them were covered with brightly colored afghans that did add an almost cheerful look to the room. On either side of the sofa were two mismatched, badly nicked end tables, that had been painted the same shade of soft yellow. There was an old TV on what looked to be an even older footlocker, a sitcom from the '90s, Rosanne from the looks of it, playing on it. Ms. A walked over to the TV and pushed the knob, turning it off.

"Thank you," Cinnamon said, spotting the phone on one of the yellow end tables. "I really appreciate this. My name is Cinnamon, by the way." She waited for the inevitable strange look she got whenever she told someone her name. Which was usually followed by a comment, often being along the lines of disbelief, or an observation that her name was usually one given to a stripper.

Ms. A did not give the look or make the comment. Instead she nodded, and Cinnamon had the strange feeling she had known her name, although she had no idea how that was possible. "I'm-" the woman began, then stopped as if reluctant to say anything else.

"Those young men called you Ms. A," Cinnamon said, almost timidly as she started bouncing Neil, who had quieted down, his shrieks having melted into whimpers, as if he knew now that he was safe and his whimpers were more of a release of residual fear. "I don't mind calling you, that."

Ms. A bit her lip and started to nod, as if that would be fine, then stopped her head in mid nod and shrugged as if she had changed her mind abruptly. "Donna," she said. "Call me, Donna." She looked at Neil. "Is he okay?"

Cinnamon nodded. "He's sick, he's got a cold and a fever, I was at the clinic with him, that's how I got into this mess," she shook her head ruefully. "I'm so sorry to be a bother to you, Donna. And, it's nice to meet you."

Donna frowned for a moment. She had long, gray hair tied back in a pony tail, hair that seemed to be thinning in places and a drawn out face that looked as if life had spent most of its time beating her down. She was wearing a long sleeved shirt, which made perfect sense, given the coolness of the evening, but Cinnamon had the feeling that she wore long sleeved shirts in the summer too, to cover the scars from the track marks. _Recovering drug addict_, Cinnamon thought. This didn't phase her, she had met a few recovering alcoholics and recovering drug addicts in her life. And if anyone knew that people could make bad choices in their lives, it was her. Here she was, no parents, no family but a three month old baby, and she wasn't even old enough to legally buy liquor. Clearly Donna had realized that drugs were a problem and had taken steps to fix it and for that she had Cinnamon's admiration.

"It's nice to meet you, too," Donna finally said, but she wasn't looking at her, she was looking instead at Neil with a look of longing, tinged with fear as if she wanted so much to hold him, but was afraid to ask. Cinnamon wasn't sure if the fear was because some parents could be so fussy with kids, afraid of letting anyone hold them, or if there were other reason, and she decided she would give Donna a chance, if she wished to take it.

"Can you do me a favor and hold Neil for a bit, while I call my roommate?" she held her son away from her body in offering, grateful that Neil was not the type to shy from strangers. "I understand if you're worried about him being sick, but if that doesn't bother you, it would be a big help to me. Because he's sick, he wants to be held all the time."

Donna only hesitated briefly, then accepted Neil, her arms curling around him naturally, a look of wonder crossing her face, her lips upturning in a smile as she brought him close and Neil snuggled up to her, not caring that he had no clue who she was, just caring that she was warm and comforting. He made a soft mewling sound, then put his head on her shoulder. Automatically, Donna began rubbing his back in slow, gentle, circles.

_This is not the first baby she has held, not by a long shot_, Cinnamon thought as she picked up the phone. "I hope you don't mind, I'm going to step into the kitchen. I think Neil is falling asleep and I'd rather not keep him awake with my talking." When Donna's head dipped in a brief nod, still not taking her eyes off of Neil, Cinnamon went into the kitchen and dialed her house, praying Lynn was home.

Lynn answered on the first ring with her typical, cheerful "'Yello!" that Cinnamon sometimes found annoying, but today found a blessing. She wanted to break down, tell her everything, including the terror she'd felt when she was surrounded by Mad Dog and his posse, but this wasn't the time. Instead, she explained that her car had broken down and where she was.

"Ouch, bad neighborhood, Cookie," Lynn said, her voice sympathetic, but non-judgmental, which was one of the things Cinnamon loved about the woman. She didn't say, "What were you doing in the worst part of the city?" or imply that Cinnamon should know better, she just accepted that if Cinnamon had been there, there was a good reason for it, and went from there.

"I'll say," Cinnamon agreed, sighing. "I suspect it's the battery."

"Not if you were driving when it happened, more likely the alternator," Lynn disagreed. When Cinnamon sighed, thinking this would be a horrible expense, Lynn cheerfully told her that she had a friend who could replace it and wouldn't charge her for more than the parts and a good home cooked meal. Another thing about Lynn that Cinnamon loved, she seemed to know the most useful people.

"The problem is getting it home," Cinnamon said mournfully. "I know I shouldn't have, but I let my Triple A membership expire, it came down to having diapers or that, and I picked diapers."

"That's not a problem either, Cookie," Lynn said. "I still have my membership and I'll call and add you. It's free to add a family member and I'll say you're my sister. But, in this case, if I'm going to have Dougie fix your car, I'll see if I can't get him to tow it too."

"Dougie has a tow truck?" Cinnamon asked.

"Dougie's _boss_ has a tow truck," Lynn corrected. "But his boss will let him use it, if it's available. Is there a phone where you're at, so I can call you back?"

"Uh," Cinnamon hesitated. She had been walking back and forth around the clean, pine smelling kitchen to the entrance to the living room while she was on the phone, to see how Donna and Neil were faring. Donna had sat down on one of the arm chairs, still holding Neil. The chair was one of those rocking recliners and she was rocking Neil, very slowly, and Cinnamon thought she was crooning to him in a low, cigarette affected voice. Cinnamon realize that there was a package of cigarettes on one of the end tables and a lighter, but the place did not smell of smoke, at least not badly, and there was no ash tray. She asked Lynn to hang on and asked Donna if she would mind having her phone number so she could give it to Lynn. Donna called out the number, digit by digit, which Cinnamon repeated and Lynn wrote down. Then the process repeated itself as Lynn read back the number, Cinnamon repeated it, and Donna nodded to confirm it.

"Great, give me a few and I'll call you right back," Lynn said. "Don't worry, Cookie, you just worry about Neil. Lynn's got you covered on this." And before Cinnamon could respond, even to say thank you, she hung up.

_I am so lucky to have Lynn in my life_, Cinnamon thought as she put the phone back in it's holder and told Donna that Lynn would call her back soon. Since before Neil was born, Cinnamon's one dream was to one day move from Ohio, she had enough of the state that had always been her home, but had also shattered her by being the state where her parents had been killed on the highway. Cinnamon's dream was to be able to afford a small house, nothing fancy, but big enough so that Neil could have his own room and there would still be a guest room. Now she decided that when the day came for that dream to come true, Cinnamon would make sure to know everyone in the neighborhood. To be like Lynn and be able to get help if needed and give help if needed.

"He's asleep, would you like him back?" Donna asked, indicating Neil.

"Not unless he's being a bother," Cinnamon said softly, sensing the woman did not want to give up Neil.

"He's not a bother at all."

Cinnamon studied the woman, sensing that Donna was torn somewhere between wanting to be friendly and wanting to keep to herself, and Cinnamon wasn't exactly sure why. On the one hand, they were stuck together for awhile, and Donna had saved her from Mad Dog's group, but on the other hand, the two of them were likely to never meet again. "Do-do you have any children?" Cinnamon asked.

Donna started to shake her head, almost too quickly, then she stopped and her head turned slightly to the right, and changed the shake into a nod. "I had a son."

"Oh!" Cinnamon said, hearing the word "had" and thinking she understood, "I'm so sorry."

Donna realized the implication of her words and now shook her head if not vigorously, at least definitively. "No, he's alive," she said. "I-I just don't have anything to do with him."

"Oh," Cinnamon repeated, wondering if maybe Donna's son was a trouble maker, similar to Mad Dog and his crew and had spiraled so out of control that Donna had, for her own safety, been forced to cut ties with him.

As if reading her mind, Donna again shook her head. "He-he's the one who left me. When he was young." When Cinnamon frowned, she continued, "I don't blame him at all. I-I wasn't a very good mother. In fact, I was a really_ bad _mother." As if those few words had knocked something loose in her, some thin shell where she kept a part of herself hidden and now couldn't contain it, the words, a confession, began coming out of her. "I'm an addict, or at least I was, well, no, I still am, I just don't use anymore. But I did when D-my son was born. It's a wonder he turned out to be as good as he was, because I didn't take care of myself when I was pregnant. I didn't take care of him when he was born. I was young, which I know is no excuse, but I shouldn't have had him. I didn't give him what he needed, I didn't care for him the way I should. All I cared about was me, _my_ drugs, _my_ next fix. I didn't care that I was raising him in a house where I would let anyone with drugs crash for as long as they wanted, as long as they supplied me what I thought I needed. I was a horrible mother, I admit it. And the smartest thing he ever did was leave me. Even after he left, it still took me years to wise up and realize what I was doing. By then it was too late, he'd moved on."

"Do you know he's okay?" Cinnamon asked, feeling sorry for this woman. She believed every word Donna said, but she also saw that Donna had put her life back together, the best she could, surely that had to count for something.

"Yeah," Donna said and for the first time since she had decided to share some of her past with Cinnamon, she smiled. "I-I have ways to find out how he's doing. I know some folks who still keep in touch with him."

"Maybe you should ask one of them to pass on a message?" Cinnamon suggested. "Ask them to tell your son you said hi or something. Nothing pushy, just hi. Maybe that will open a door? Maybe he'll decide he wants to see you. I mean, I understand that maybe he'll never be able to accept you like a mother, but maybe you two can at least be friends?"

Donna shook her head quickly, almost violently, which caused Neil to stir a little. For a moment, Cinnamon was afraid he'd wake up and start screaming, but Donna rubbed his back again in those small, gentle, circles and he calmed down again. "No, I can't do that," she said, keeping her voice soft and gentle, so as not to disturb Neil. "You don't understand all I did, but he has every right to hate me. I did things no sane mother would ever dream of doing and he's better off without me. He's doing real good, the _last_ thing he needs is me in his life, opening up old wounds."

Cinnamon could see her point, but she also could see another point too, and wondered if Donna had thought of this. She was about to express this point, when the phone rang. She had moved over, sitting down on the sofa, closest to the phone and she snatched it up and went into the kitchen with it, "Hello?"

It wasn't until later she realized that she had been assuming it was Lynn and that was probably rude of her, but it turned out it was Lynn, cheerful Lynn who was so good at getting things done. "Everything is set, Cookie. Are you safe and sound?"

"Yes," Cinnamon said. "I'm in one of the apartments on the street. It's a long story and I'll tell you about it later, but I have Neil with me and he's fine."

"Good, sounds like it will be an interesting story," Lynn said cheerfully. "Something we can talk about over dinner. I'm making pork chops, by the way. Anyway, Dougie will come for the car, I'm going to follow Dougie in my car to give you a ride home. What's the exact address where you are?"

Again, there was a back and forth exchange and confirmation of information. Donna suggested that Lynn save herself the bother of coming all the way up to the apartment by blowing the horn to her car, three quick blasts. "We'll hear it just fine," Donna assured her. "These walls are paper thin."

When Cinnamon hung up the phone and replaced it in its base, she sat down again. If Donna remembered what they had been discussing before Lynn had called, she gave no indication, but continued to rub Neil's back, rocking him gently. Cinnamon looked at this woman realizing how good she was with Neil, realizing how much this woman must have changed, and how as bad as she had been in the past, and Cinnamon believed everything she said about her past, she wasn't the same woman. The two of them sat for awhile, not speaking at all, Donna cuddling Neil. After almost twenty minutes had passed, Cinnamon finally spoke, "Did you ever think that maybe you owe it to your son to talk to him?"

Donna looked up, not saying anything, but looking at her with a look of fear and caution, which both discouraged Cinnamon from saying anything else, and yet encouraged her to continue. "Do you ever think that your son wonders why you did the things you did?"

"He knows what I was, what I still _am,"_ Donna said, and the words were painful. "He knows his mother is a drug addict, and worse."

Cinnamon decided not to ask what the worse was, having a feeling she was already overstepping her boundaries. "I'm sure he does," she said. "But I'm sure there were times when you said things, did things, that he still wonders about." She decided that if Donna could divulge some of the secrets of her soul, Cinnamon could do the same. "Neil's father… he had a rough childhood. He grew up around here, even, and he rarely talked about his past, but when he did, I got the feeling his home life was rough."

Now Donna had stopped rocking, but Neil stayed asleep, head resting on his shoulder, looking as innocent as only a sleeping baby could look. But Donna stared at Cinnamon, her body almost rigid. "He was okay though, right? I mean, getting out of his home, away from his childhood, right?"

"I think getting away helped," Cinnamon admitted honestly. "I think it was better than staying, but I know there were times when he wondered. I mean, I know most of the time he dismissed his childhood, accepted that things that happened were not really his fault, but I also know that there were times when he wondered. Maybe the adult in him knew he was innocent, but the child who had to live through it still wondered if he was to blame." Cinnamon paused, feeling slightly uncomfortable at the piercing stare Donna had fixed to her and bit her lip, deciding to deflect the conversation away from her Mox and back to Donna's issue. "Maybe your son feels the same way. Maybe it would be good for you to get in touch with him, even if it's just to say, 'it wasn't you. You did nothing, you were a child. It's my fault those bad things happened and I'm sorry they happened, and I can't change the past, but I can tell you, it wasn't your fault.'"

For a moment, Donna's eyes became brighter as if she was thinking this over carefully, then they dulled and she shook her head. "What good would that do? That's begging for forgiveness and he shouldn't have to forgive me."

"No, it's not," Cinnamon disagreed. "And you can tell him that, you can tell him that you're not asking for forgiveness, that forgiveness is his and his alone to give. That you just want him to know, from you, that he's not to blame. That he was just a little boy in a bad situation."

Donna opened her mouth to speak, then was interrupted by three short blasts of a car horn, coming from outside the house. Whatever she was going to say was gone, instead she said, "Your friend is here."

Cinnamon sensed the chance had passed, the discussion was over. As if to verify it, as Cinnamon stood up, so did Donna, who handed her Neil. "I'm sorry D- Neil's dad isn't part of his life. I hope some day, that changes."

"I do too," Cinnamon said, reaching out and taking back her son, who only woke up briefly and then, realizing it was his mother holding him, went right back to sleep. Cinnamon noted that his breathing was better now and was grateful. Sleeping more upright had probably helped settle his chest. She was so relieved at this, that she didn't even realize that Donna had guessed that Mox wasn't a part of Neil's life, even though Cinnamon had never mentioned that. When she remembered later, it was too late and part of her thought not to make such a big deal out of it. Donna had probably made the conclusion looking at the fact she had called a roommate, not Neil's father. It wouldn't be too hard to assume that if Cinnamon had a roommate, odds were Neil's father wasn't around.

* * *

By the time she got outside with Neil, Lynn had taken the car seat out of Cinnamon's car and put in the back of her own. Once they had Neil secured in the back seat of her Ford Explorer, she gave Cinnamon a hug. She smelled like the boxer dogs they rescued and dog shampoo and maybe even pork chops. "Sorry you had such a rough time of it, Cookie,"

"It wasn't so bad," Cinnamon said, hugging her back. "The woman who's apartment I was in, she's nice. She's made mistakes, but she's fixing them. And she was _so_ taken with Neil. And, she might have saved our lives. In fact, I'm pretty sure she saved our lives."

"Really?" Lynn asked, looking at her and shaking her head, "That sounds like a story. We'll talk about it on the way home. Dougie is hooking up your car and he's going to tow it back home. Thank god I bought extra pork chops, because he wants that home cooked meal, _tonight."_

"As long as you don't mind, he can have dinner with us tonight," Cinnamon said, as she climbed into the vehicle and buckled her seat belt. "But _I_ still owe him a home cooked meal, too."

"Oh, he'll be thrilled," Lynn said, as she started up the car.

As they drove away, Cinnamon looked up at the building and saw Donna, leaning out the window of her apartment, smoking a cigarette, watching her, no doubt keeping an eye on them until they were safely out of sight.

* * *

Donna slowly finished smoking her cigarette, leaning out the window, watching until the tail lights of the car Cinnamon and Neil were in, turned a corner and were out of sight. When the cigarette was nothing but a filter, she flicked it onto the street, where it landed in a puddle and burnt out.

Pulling herself back into her apartment, she shut the window, then went into the bedroom, where she took the picture she had removed from the end table in the living room before Cinnamon saw it. She looked at the picture of the young man and sighed. "Your son is beautiful, Dean," she whispered. "And I don't know what happened to pull you and Cinnamon apart, but I hope, someday you make your way back to her and to Neil, because they need you."

Sighing, she carried the picture back out into the living room and put it back on the end table. Part of her wished so badly she could have told Cinnamon who she was, she had the feeling that Cinnamon would have accepted her automatically and made her part of her life, part of her and Neil's life, that just seemed to be the type of woman she was. Someone who would forgive her past. And while that was tempting, Donna couldn't do it. She was too afraid that if Dean ever did try to get in touch with her, if he found out Cinnamon was in contact with his mother, he would shy away. She couldn't risk that, she wouldn't risk that.

Despite what Cinnamon had said, Donna knew she and Dean would never be able to connect on any level. Donna could be as sorry as possible about her past with Dean, and indeed she was, but being sorry wouldn't fix it. There were too many mistakes, too many thing she had done. Dean bore the physical scars over some of them and the mental scars from all of them. Cinnamon could talk about telling him it wasn't his fault, but Donna was sure Dean knew it wasn't his fault.

While Donna knew she couldn't help Dean, part of her wished there was a way she could help someone else. Another child. She thought briefly again of Neil, then dismissed it, Neil was fine. Sure, Cinnamon was young, but it was obvious that she would move heaven and earth for Neil, and that would go a long way in letting Neil know his self worth. And the roommate didn't seem like a bad sort either. Donna had the feeling Cinnamon would always surround herself in people that would love Neil too. No, Neil didn't need Donna in his life.

_Somewhere, there has to be someone out there who can use me, _Donna thought._ Someone who needs me._ Because that was the worst thing of all, she had discovered since she had started on her road to recovery, a road she would walk down until the day she died. It wasn't needing someone, that was bad, but you learned to make do. Far worse than needing someone was just wanting to be needed by someone else.

* * *

Six months later, Cinnamon was taking Neil for his nine month check up when she decided to drop by and say hello to Donna. For some reason, at odd moments, Cinnamon had been thinking of the woman, thinking that even though she had turned her life around, she seemed lonely. And since it was a warm, September afternoon, bright daylight, she thought it would be safe. She found the building easily and to her relief, Mad Dog and his crew was no where in sight. Holding on to Neil's hand, she walked up the flights of stairs, taking forever to do it. Neil was walking now, and he kept insisting he could get up the flights, although half way through, he finally gave in to defeat and let his mother carry him.

When they got up to the door, Cinnamon knocked several times, but got no answer. She knew that had been a risk when she decided to try, Donna could be at work, or shopping, and turned to leave, when the door across the hall opened and a man poked his head out and looked at her. "That apartment is vacant," the man said, releasing a cloud of beer breath that Cinnamon could smell clearly in the six feet that separated them.

"It is?" Cinnamon, asked, feeling disappointed. "Do you know where she went? Donna, I mean?"

"Rumor has it she got a job working with troubled boys," the man said, rolling his eyes as if working with troubled boys wasn't worth anyone's time. "One of those crossovers between a school, and a farm. According to my wife, she's like a den mother or something to a group of these kids, and she gets free room and board. So, she's gone. I don't blame her. I mean, working with the kids might be stupid, but free room and board is nice."

"Thank you," Cinnamon said. She debated if she should ask the name of the school, but even though this man had been a wealth of information, something told her he wouldn't know, or if he did, he'd decide that wasn't information he'd share.

"Any time," the man said, and disappeared back into his apartment, taking the stench of beer and body odor with him.

Cinnamon looked at the door to Donna's apartment one last time and then headed for the stairs. When she got to the top, Neil started fussing. "Walk!" he insisted. "I _w__alk!"_

She put him down, and took his tiny hand in hers and together, the two of them headed down the stairs.

_The End._

* * *

**Authors Notes: Sorry it took me so long to get this second half up. I thought I'd be finished with the editing a couple days ago, but life reared its ugly head and I couldn't get to it.**

**Thank you for everyone who took the time to leave a review, I really appreciated it. I get the feeling either this fandom is dying or people have gotten bored with my writing, or more likely, a combination of both. So, it's nice to know some people are still interested in my adventures of Cinnamon, Neil, etc. And the Shield boys, of course, even if they weren't really in this story.**

**Peace Out  
Willow**


	12. Coincidental Changes

**Coincidental Changes  
**

Neil had always been an early riser. He knew he went to bed a little earlier than some kids his age, like Cory, who went to bed whenever he wanted. Cory's mother didn't care what her son did, as long as he was in his room by nine o'clock. Since Cory was real little kid, he'd had a TV in his room, a computer, and usually the latest gaming system and if he spent all night playing games, watching TV or chatting on the 'net, his mom didn't care.

Neil's mom was different. She worked nights and she wanted him to get enough sleep, so his room didn't have a TV or a game system, those were in the living room. If he was sick, his mom would bring in the TV from her bedroom and hook it into his room so he could watch, but he wasn't sick very often. He had a pretty good laptop, but the rule was that at bedtime, it had to be shut off and placed outside of his bedroom when he went to bed. His mom liked him to be asleep when she left for work. She never left him alone, there was always someone spending the night with him too, sometimes one of a group of college girls from the local college mom hired, sometimes a wrestler from WVW, Uncle Jasper being there the most. They slept in the guest room and were there in case Neil needed them, although he almost never did.

Neil would wake up around five in the morning and get dressed. If the weather was good, not raining, snowing or cold, he went outside and ran ropes in his backyard wrestling ring for a bit. If the weather was bad, he would go into the shed where the work out weights were and work with them. When he was done with that, he would go into the house and take a shower. Usually whoever was watching him was still asleep, but that was okay, he wasn't a baby, he could take care of himself. After that, he would bring his laptop into his room or set it up on the kitchen table. If he was nervous about his homework, he would look it over again to make sure it was okay. Being in advanced classes could be _such_ a pain in the butt, but his mom was insistent he "live up to his potential." Which was the same as saying, "you're smart and I won't let you pretend you're dumb." If his homework was all set, he would check his email and messages on his cell phone. There was almost always an email from his dad, along with a text message, "Sleep well, I love you!" and he'd always shoot back a reply, "Good morning, Dad, I love you too! Wrestle well!" If his dad was awake, sometimes they'd text a bit. Or he'd get on Skype and talk to him for a few minutes, which was even better. Or, sometimes Leah and Payton would be awake too by then, and they'd all talk awhile.

When his mother came home, often whoever spent the night would leave, and Neil and his mother would have breakfast, usually something quick like cereal or toast, because they didn't have a lot of time before the bus came. That was okay though, because Neil liked cereal. He liked toast too, especially toast with peanut butter. Although, if he had toast with peanut butter, his mom made him go and wash his hands, brush his teeth and change his shirt before he could leave the house, because there were a couple kids in school that had peanut allergies so bad that even _smelling_ peanut butter on someone's breath could send them into Anaphylaxic shock_, _which could _kill_ them. Neil was glad he didn't have allergies like that. The worst he ever got was a runny nose when it was ragweed season.

It was rare that this routine ever changed, especially when school was in session. His mother didn't work in the summer or school vacations, unless it was an emergency, but when school was in session, this was how it worked. He would say good night to his mother, sleep, wake up and do his thing, and then see his mother about half an hour before he had to be at the bus stop, which was right at the end of the street.

So, he was a little surprised when he woke up one morning, got dressed for running the ropes, and saw his mother in the kitchen, making breakfast. "Mom?" he rubbed his eyes, hoping he wasn't having a dream and was really still asleep in bed, but he didn't think so, it didn't _feel_ like a dream.

She turned from the stove. "Hey, Neil!"

Her voice was bright and cheerful, but there was something in her eyes that Neil wasn't sure of. He knew his mom pretty well, usually knew when she was pretending to be happy when she was sad, but this was something new and he wasn't sure what it was. "Hi Mom," he said, then asked, "Why are you home, are you okay?"

"I wasn't feeling well, so they let me go early," Cinnamon explained, as she turned back to the stove.

"Are you sick?" He bit his lower lip, frowning. His mom almost never got sick. Once in awhile, she got a cold, but when she did, she just took something for it and continued.

"I'm okay," she assured him. "I was just got a little light headed and rather than risk me getting someone else sick, if I'm coming down with something, they got someone to cover the rest of my shift and let me go home." She turned again from the stove and seeing the worried look on Neil's face, smiled warmly. "I'm fine, Neil, don't worry so much about me."

So, Neil didn't run the ropes or work out with the weight that morning. Instead he went and took his shower and by the time he was done, Mom was serving up scrambled eggs and pancakes, which was one of his favorite weekend breakfasts. While they were eating, Shay, the college girl who had been spending the night got up and came out. Neil's mom offered her breakfast, but she declined, saying that since Cinnamon was home, she'd just leave so she could go to the library before classes. Cinnamon paid her for watching Neil, and she left.

They were pretty much done with breakfast, just drinking their juice, when Cinnamon asked him, "Neil, how would you feel about moving?"

Neil put his glass down and looked at her. "We're moving?"

Cinnamon shook her head. "No, I didn't say we _were_ moving, I was asking you how you'd _feel_ about moving." She looked around the kitchen. "This place… well, it's kind of small."

Neil frowned, his brows furrowing. His mom usually said their house was cozy and just right. The only time she ever seemed to worry about the lack of size was when they were having a lot of people over for dinner, as they had done last Thanksgiving and the Thanksgiving before, but she always worked it out. When his father moved in, Neil had wondered for a bit if he might think the house was too small and simple, but Dean never seemed to mind at all. In fact, like him and Neil thought, like his mom, Neil's dad seemed to like the house and even more so, like the neighborhood. "Where would we move to?" Neil asked, feeling a little bewildered.

"Again, I didn't say we _were_ moving," Cinnamon said, smiling, but Neil had the feeling the smile was a little forced. "But, if we _did_ move, we'd stay in the same area. They're building those houses a few miles away, they're much bigger, maybe we would move there."

Neil frowned, knowing the area his mom was talking about. It was down the road, quite a bit further past the old farmhouse, which used to be his thinking spot, but wasn't anymore, since he'd fallen in the well and broke his leg. His mom made him promise, and not just promise, but cross-your-heart-hope-to-die, stick-a-needle-in-your-eye _promise_, he'd never go back there again unless he was with one of his parents. Since having your parents along sort of defeated the purpose of having a thinking spot, he'd never been back there. Now when he needed to be alone to think, he made do with his wrestling ring, or found someplace else to think. But he _had_ been in the car with his mom and drove past those houses his mother was talking about. Yes, they were much bigger than this house, but they all looked identical. All white siding on the top and brick looking siding on the bottom. Mom said they had an HOA there, and while Neil wasn't sure what an HOA was, he knew it meant that every house had to be exactly the same as the house next to it. _ I'd probably get lost and try to go into the neighbor's house if we moved there,_ Neil thought. He liked their neighborhood where all the houses looked different. Some were white, some were blue, some were cream, one was even a light purple. There were three styles, ranch, like theirs, cape cod, and colonial, but some of the ranch houses, like his, had covered porches in the front, some just had a small deck, some just had stairs that went to the door. Some of the cape cods had dormer windows, some didn't. Each house was at least a little different. And more important, Neil knew every single person who _lived_ in all those houses and except for Pete Spencer, he _liked_ everyone who lived in all these different houses. He had the feeling that if they moved to the new houses, everyone would be identical. And after awhile of living there, Neil would start to change and look just like _they_ did and his Mom too. "I don't like those houses," he finally said. "They look stamped."

His mom looked at him and frowned too, but she nodded. She really couldn't disagree with him, she had said the same thing when they had passed them and more than once. "I know, but they are bigger."

"The people who live there are probably snotty," Neil continued. "They probably drive BMW's and work nine to five and hate wrestling."

Cinnamon smiled, but it didn't quite reach her eyes. "I don't think they'd all hate wrestling, but you're right, from the sizes and prices of the places, they are probably all white collar and middle to upper middle class. There's nothing wrong with that, you know."

"I know, but I like it here," Neil said stubbornly. "I know everyone. If we moved there, Cory would be too far away for me to bike to his house, so would Sam, Marcus, and Javier."

"You'd see them in school," Cinnamon pointed out.

"It's not the same," Neil said. "So, if we don't _have_ to move, I'd rather not. I like this house, I like this street." He looked at his mother, studying her carefully. "We don't _have_ to move, right?"

"Well, certainly not today, we don't." Cinnamon laughed, ruffled his hair, and then looked at the clock. "Finish your orange juice, you don't have that much time before you have to get going and I know you'll want to text your father, if you haven't already. I'll clean up the breakfast dishes." And with that, she stood up, grabbing their plates, which was a further way of her letting Neil know the discussion was closed.

Neil just hoped it meant that the whole idea of moving was closed, too.

* * *

Leah could hear her mother singing in the kitchen from her bedroom as she walked down the stairs. Her mom was more of a morning person than her dad was, but even this was a little more cheerful than she usually was. She hurried down the stairs and walked into the "great room" which was their combination family room, kitchen, and dining room. Jessica was at the stove, making eggs from the looks of it, and singing along with the radio, some song about being the happiest person on earth.

"Morning, Mama."

Jessica turned from the stove, quickly, with a little style to the turn as if she were doing a dance move. "Leah-belle!" she called out, as if having Leah walk into the kitchen was the best thing that could ever happen as she reached over to turn down the radio. "You ready for school? I'm making happy eggs!"

Happy eggs were Leah's toddler name for "Sunny side up," and while they were still her favorite way to have eggs, Leah had long ago abandoned calling them, "happy eggs." She was tempted to remind her mother that she was no longer a baby, but, seeing that her mother looked so joyful, she changed her mind and nodded. "That sounds good."

"Why don't you pour yourself some juice," Jessica suggested. "And pour some for me too, baby."

"Okay," Leah said, going to the refrigerator and taking out the pitcher of orange juice that was in there. Her mother never bought orange juice, if she could help it, instead she bought oranges and put them in the juicer, sometimes adding other fruit if the oranges seemed a little too tart or too sweet. When her dad was home, they could go through a pitcher of orange juice in a day, sometimes even less than a day, but when it was just Leah and her mom, the small pitcher lasted at least a day. She brought the pitcher over to the table, that had already been set, another difference from most mornings, usually it was Leah's job to set the table.

When they were sitting down and starting breakfast, Leah decided to ask her mother if something special was going on. "You seem really happy today, Mom. What's up?"

Jessica smiled, picking up her English muffin and reaching for the strawberry jam. Leah thought it was funny, but all three of them, her parents and herself, liked different things on their English muffins. Mom would only eat them with strawberry jam. Her dad liked them with grape jelly or sometimes even peanut butter. Leah's opinion was that English muffins should only be served with applesauce on them. No butter, just applesauce, preferably homemade cinnamon apple sauce. "What's not to be happy about? It's a beautiful day, and I'm having a wonderful breakfast with my favorite daughter."

Leah grinned, but shook her head. "Mom, I'm your _only_ daughter."

"That doesn't mean you can't be my favorite," Jessica countered.

"It also means I'm your _least_ favorite," Leah shot back, but she was still grinning.

"Never! You are too wonderful to be _least_ at anything!" She shook her head, then abruptly changed the subject. "The pay per view is next weekend, I'll bet you can't wait to see your daddy."

Leah grinned and nodded. "Are Uncle Seth and Uncle Dean's families coming too?"

"I think so," Jessica said. "And we'll spend some time with them, of course, but at least one night, we'll probably have dinner with just the three of us. Is that okay?"

Leah frowned. Most of the time, the three families seemed to spend all their time together while awake. She didn't mind the idea of having dinner alone with her mother and father but it wasn't_ normal, _at least not planned out this way. Sometime it happened, but it wasn't discussed first. "Sure," she said. "Is there a special reason?"

"No," Jessica said, shaking her head, then stopped. "Well, we might have something to talk about. We'll see."

"What are we going to have to talk about?" Leah asked, instantly curious.

"Nothing to worry about," Jessica assured her, then looked at Leah's plate. "Finish your breakfast, if you want a chance to text with your dad before school."

Leah knew the subject was dropped and no amount of begging and pleading would make her mother tell her. _Guess I gotta wait_, she told herself, then opening the jar of apple sauce, began putting some on her muffins.

* * *

Something was off with Mum, that morning and Payton couldn't put her finger on it. When she had come down for breakfast, everything _seemed_ fine. They were having oatmeal with toast that morning, which was a good breakfast, although Payton would have preferred waffles with fruit. But, oatmeal was good for you, and her mum insisted she have it for breakfast at least once a week, which was perfectly normal, so that wasn't it.

They ate breakfast, and about half way through, Payton realized that she had done most of the talking that morning, telling her mother about school, about the test she had in math that day, which she wasn't worried about, because she'd been doing really good with math lately. Normally, Mum would have a _lot_ to say, would have asked her if she was sure she was ready for the test, and asked about what type of math it was. Today though, she just said, "that's good, I'm sure you'll do well." _That_ wasn't Mum. Normally, Mum was on the_ other _side of things, usually a little _too_ interested in Payton's school work.

Then, about half way through breakfast, Mum excused herself and ran to the bathroom, which wasn't like her, either. When she came back, though, she told Payton she was fine, she just had suddenly had to go. "Are you sick?" Payton asked her.

"No," Kayla said, smiling brightly, but there was still something… _hidden_ about her expression. "Finish your breakfast, we have to leave to get you to school, my little Paytibear."

And Payton had smiled and dug into her oatmeal, pleased that Mum used "her" special nickname for Payton. Her da called her Pay-pay, but Mum called her Paytibear, and she liked that both of them had special and different nicknames for her. It made _her_ feel special. Her mom and dad had never called her anything but Payton or Pay, and when they called her Pay, it didn't feel like a nickname, it just felt like they didn't have the time or the energy to call her by her whole name. Unlike Preston, who had a million nicknames it seemed, Pres, Pres, my man, Little Man Preston, and Boss Man Preston, just to name a few. Payton liked that now she had parents who thought she was special enough to deserve special nicknames. So, she finished her oatmeal, feeling warm and fuzzy and for a bit, forgot about how Mum was acting.

But then, when they were driving to school, her mum went the route they usually took, which would be fine, but there was construction going on, so they got tied up in traffic. This was something that could happen to just about anyone, but _not_ to Payton's mum. Kayla kept up on those things, she checked the internet for up and coming construction projects in areas she drove around a lot and_ always_ planned alternate routes. And there had been a sign _warning_ that construction was to begin that day, a sign that had been up for weeks, and she _still_ forgot. Fortunately, since it was the first day of the construction, they didn't get hung up too long and Payton got to school on time. Not enough time to hang out with some of the other kids for a bit, but enough time to get to her classroom. But, in the rush to make sure she wasn't late, Kayla didn't ask her for her cell phone, which was the rule, no phone in school and Payton hadn't thought to just hand it to her. It wasn't until she was sitting in her classroom, that she felt the phone in the pocket of her pants.

Payton looked around the classroom nervously as her teacher was taking attendance. Payton knew she had to turn off her phone before someone texted her, or worse, _called_ her. The rule in school was that if you were caught talking on your cell phone, they took it away from you and you couldn't get it back until one of your parents came in with you and then you'd get a lecture about how cell phones were not allowed in the classroom. That had never happened to Payton, but it had to a few of her other classmates. And while Payton knew she would likely not get any calls on her phone while she was in school, her da was likely to text her. Usually when she left school she had a half a dozen texts from Da, just little reminders that he was thinking about her and loved her, or maybe a picture of something he saw that he thought would interest her. She couldn't risk the phone getting her in trouble, so she sat up straight and raised her hand.

"Yes, Payton?" the teacher looked at her, expectantly.

"Ms. Tanner, can I please go to the girl's room?" Payton asked, which for some reason, made some people in the class giggle, which was something Payton never understood. What was so funny about peeing? _Everyone_ did it.

"Is it _that_ urgent that you can't wait for recess?" Ms. Tanner asked, frowning. "You _should_ have gone before the bell rang."

Payton liked Ms. Tanner, she was a little strict as a teacher, but fair. For a moment, she was tempted to blurt out that her mum got caught in traffic that morning and thus they had just managed to get to school on time, but she thought that might be too much information. "I know, Ms. Tanner," she said, "And I'm sorry, but I didn't have to go until just now!" Which wasn't a lie when you thought about it. If she'd realized she still had her phone on her when she'd walked into the school, she would have ducked into the bathroom and shut it off before she went to her classroom. Still, that made the kids giggle even harder and she really wished they'd all stop being so… so… _immature._

Ms. Tanner paused for a moment, and then nodded. "Just be quick about it, we have our math test today."

"Take as long as you want!" one of her classmates, Tony Compton called out, which earned him a very stern look from Ms. Tanner and a few giggles from his other classmates. Tony was notoriously bad at math.

"I'll be very quick," Payton promised and rose from her seat, hurrying out the door.

When she got to the girl's room, she ducked into one of the stalls, just in case someone came in, like a teacher or something, and caught her with the phone. Once she had the door shut, she pulled out her phone and was about to shut it off, when she saw she had bars. She frowned, sitting down on the toilet. She had never sent a text while at school before and she knew it was against the rules, but then again, she was worried about her mum, Kayla just wasn't being, well, _Kayla._

She decided that sometimes you had to break the rules and this was one of those times. She quickly typed out a text, "Da, I'm worried about Mum. I think something is wrong." She wanted to write more, wanted to write about all the things, the way she hadn't cared much about the math test Payton had, or didn't realize there was construction going on, or how she had run to the bathroom while they were eating breakfast, but she realized that would take too long. She knew there were words that would explain this better, but she just didn't know what they were and she didn't have the time to think about it. _This will have to be it,_ she thought and hit send. Once the message was sent, she shut her phone down.

Then, just in case there was a teacher outside the door to the bathroom, she flushed the toilet, left the stall, washed and dried her hands and returned to her class.

* * *

Shield had been officially back together and back on Raw and SmackDown for about five weeks and their popularity was soaring better than anyone could imagine. None of the three of them held a belt, none of them were King of the Ring, but it didn't matter, the three of them were the answer to the Authority, they were the big dogs in the yard. Technically, they were faces, although some of their tactics were pretty heelish, but it didn't matter. It seemed that as far as the WWE Universe was concerned, the three of them could do nothing wrong.

And while they were delighted and grateful for this second chance to make the Shield into something that would even eclipse the popularity of their first run, this success came at a price and the price was time. They'd taken a great vacation an entire month for the three of them, and their families, alone on an island smack in the middle of a private lake right after they announced that Shield was back together. Even though the first half of the vacation had been a little shaky, their wives getting fed up at having to cook and clean for all of them, and taking off for week of "Girls time" leaving the three men to fend for themselves and the kids, the second half had been a small slice of paradise. But when they had returned to their jobs, they had returned with a vengeance. Working for the WWE normally meant very little free time for yourself, but with their popularity, "very little" shifted down the scale to "pretty much, none." Nights when they could get four hours of sleep were considered a treat and the three of them were getting used to grabbing cat naps in waiting rooms or airport terminals.

It was while taking one of these cat naps, this one while waiting to go on to a local sports show, Dean's phone buzzed, pushing him into wakefulness. He sat up and pulled it out of his pocket, seeing he had a new text. With the practiced ease of someone who constantly sent and received messages, he clicked on it, and was delighted to see it was from Neil, until he read the message.

"_Dad, I don't want to move."_

Dean stared at the message, wondering exactly what it meant. Neil didn't want to move. Okay, why did Neil not want to move? He checked the time, knowing he was on the same time zone as his son, and if he remembered correctly, Neil should be at the bus stop, or possibly even boarding the bus for school. Why would his son not want to board the bus? "Is there a rattle snake or something?" he texted back.

There was a fairly long pause and Dean wondered why didn't Neil want to move? He itched to hit the phone and actually call him, but forced himself not to do that. If there was something that made Neil afraid to move, maybe a ringing phone would make the situation worse. _At least he can text me,_ Dean thought, then wondered if _that_ was a good idea. If it was a rattle snake or a hornets nest or something like that, wouldn't movement be likely to aggravate the situation? Maybe he shouldn't have texted Neil, maybe he'd put Neil in further danger!

Finally, another message came through. "_No, Dad, I mean I don't want to move from our house."_

Dean breathed a sign of relief, glad that his son wasn't in any danger, then stared at the text again. Why would Neil text him to let him know he didn't want to move out of their house? That didn't make any sense, either. "Okay," he texted back, "there's nothing wrong with not wanting to move."

The return message came much faster now, _"I think Mom might want to move."_

Another puzzle, why did Cinnamon want to move? When they had first gotten back together, Dean had mentioned a couple times that financially, they didn't have to live in that neighborhood, that they could afford to live almost anywhere. That if Cinnamon and Neil wanted to, they could buy some land in West Virginia, acres of the stuff, and have a house custom made for them. Cinnamon had vetoed that idea pretty quickly, telling Dean that while their house wasn't big, or fancy, it was cozy and the neighborhood was full of friends who they saw almost as an extended family, so no, she had no desire to leave and neither did Neil. Having gotten to know the neighbors himself, Dean was in complete agreement. So, given that all three of them liked the house, loved the neighborhood, why had Cinnamon suddenly been talking about moving? "Did she say _why_ she wants to move?" Dean finally typed back.

"_She said the house was small,"_ came the reply, and then a flood of text. Neil could text like the wind when he wanted. Dean admired that. Every time he thought he was getting pretty good at this technology thing, Neil proved that in this situation at least, Neil was the master and Dean was a mere child. _"She said if we moved down to where those new __fancy houses__ are being built we'd have a bigger house. But, Dad, I don't want to move there. Those places are stupid! They all look alike and everyone who lives in them are probably jerks. I don't want to move!" _

"If you don't want to move to those places, we won't," Dean typed back, not sure what else to say. He still felt clueless as to why this was even a discussion.

"_Thanks, Dad. Bus is here, gotta go." _

Dean knew that Neil would turn off his phone when he got on the bus, that was one of the rules of the school, although Dean thought it was a stupid one. Who cared if the kids were using their phones on the bus? Today he thought it was an even stupider rule, because he wanted to find out more about this moving thing. He stared at his phone, about to put it in his pocket, when he remembered that it indeed was a phone, not just a device for texting, and in this situation, that could be useful. He looked at the time again and realized he had another hour before they would need to be on the set. He stood up. "I'm going to go find a quiet place and call Cinnamon," he muttered, heading for the door. "I won't go too far, I promise."

"Be back before we have to be on the set," Seth mumbled, still half asleep.

"Give Cinnamon my best," Roman said, and closed his eyes.

Dean answered both of them with the same, "I will" and walked out of the green room.

* * *

After Dean had left, Roman tried to drift back off to sleep again, but found he couldn't. Some mix up in communications had lead to them being brought to the studio well before they were needed, which was irritating. However, having only gotten about two hours of sleep the night before, the three of them were going to make the best of it and nap in the green room until they were needed, but, now that Dean had woken up and left to call Cinnamon, Roman found he couldn't get back to that half napping, half awake stage he had been at before, and pulled out his own phone. He found he had a few texts from Leah and pulled them up on the screen.

_Morning Daddy! I love you! _

That was the first one, and he smiled. Because times to communicate were often scarce, it wasn't uncommon for Leah to leave a bunch of texts at various points in her day and Roman continued to the next one.

_Is everything okay? _

The two texts were sent awhile ago, and spaced five minute apart. Roman thought that Leah must have been hoping he'd be able to answer her. Obviously, she realized that wasn't going to happen, because she left another text.

_Mom says when we come out for the PPV, that we need to talk as a family, alone and stuff. Is everything okay?_

Another few minutes before the next message.

_I guess you're busy. I gotta go to school, love you, Dad!_

Roman frowned, disappointed he hadn't caught her before she left for school, and puzzled at her messages. This was the first he'd heard of this "family talk," thus he had no idea what was going on. He looked at the time and realized that if he called right now, he could catch Jessica before _she_ went to work. He rose from his seat and looked at Seth. "I'm gonna call Jess," he said.

Seth was sitting in an overstuffed arm chair, head tipped back, eyes half open. "Okay," he mumbled. "Be back in time."

"I will."

* * *

After Roman left, Seth straightened up, realizing that he wasn't so sleepy after all. The two interruptions from his teammates had put a stop to _his_ nap and he might as well face that. Sighing, he pulled out his own phone to see if he had any messages and found one from Payton.

_Da, I'm worried about Mum. I think something is wrong._

A quick glance at the time the message was sent told Seth it had been sent while Payton was supposed to be in school, in her classroom. Why would Payton be sending him a message when she was supposed to be in school? That wasn't like Payton at all and the rule was that Payton did not take her phone to school. So, was she home? He found himself checking the school website to see if it was a holiday or a half day, and found out that no, school was in session today, a normal day. Was Payton sick? And if she was sick, why was she worried about_ Kayla?_

The room was empty, Roman and Dean having left to make their phone calls. Seth didn't hesitate, he called Kayla on her cell phone, determined to find out what was going on.

* * *

Roman returned first, just as Seth was disconnecting from his talk with Kayla, feeling a bit dazed at what she had told him. She had explained her distractions and her reasons were solid and valid _and _had blown Seth's mind. He stared at Roman for a moment, his brain trying to work all of this out, not even noticing that Roman had an almost goofy grin on his face.

The two of them looked at each other for three seconds, then both opened their mouths at the same time as if to speak, but then the door opened and Dean came rushing in. "Guys, you are not going to believe this, I was just talking to-"

Before Dean could finish, the assistant from the show was coming in, right behind him, making it clear they needed to get miked up and out on the set right away. For a moment, it looked as if Dean might blurt out his news anyway, then he shrugged and said he'd wait until after the interview.

* * *

Seth would realize a few days later, that the interview was off, although he didn't think it had been caught by anyone but him. At least nobody at the WWE complained that they were off, but when he watched the interview on You Tube, he could just tell. Of course, by then he knew the reasons and it made sense.

Since Shield had reformed, Roman had gone back to being the quieter muscle of the group. He wasn't as quiet as he'd been the first time Shield had formed, when they were trying to work on his mike presence, he'd gotten better at that, but with Shield, his best role seemed to be the less talkative muscle of the group, the one who nodded and when he _did _speak you found yourself thinking whatever he was saying must be very important. But on this interview, he was close to completely silent. They were supposed to be discussing the latest storyline, in which they had been getting some help from the Wyatts. Exactly how this would play out, if it would later be found that Shield had hired the Wyatts, or if the Wyatts would be helping them for another twisted purpose, hadn't been revealed but right now, the orders were to act as if this situation was just as puzzling to them as it was to everyone else. Roman's silence might have been played off as worry and not wanting to give out speculation, rather than facts, but anyone who knew Roman well would have seen that Roman was distracted, and several times, when he thought the cameras weren't focused on him, he had an almost goofy grin on his face, as if someone had promised him a treat when this was done, and he couldn't _wait_ to get it.

Dean, who usually did do a fair bit of talking, was doing just that, talking a blue streak, but it wasn't his usual scowling talking. Instead, there was something bright and almost too animated about him, as if just under the surface, he was finding this whole situation a lark. That might have worked for The Lunatic Fringe, but it didn't work on the guy that was supposed to be upset about the corruption and injustice running rampant in the WWE, corruption and injustice that they were supposed to eliminate.

And, Seth wasn't going to spare himself either. He was supposed to be the architect, the planner, the cerebral one of the group, who always had his ducks in a row, always knew what the next move was, even if he didn't share that information. Seth felt he'd come off on this interview like he had way too much on his mind and at that moment, didn't give a damn about Shield.

Which, if he had to be honest with himself, was the absolute truth at that moment, but he was supposed to be a professional and this was not acting professional at all.

He was glad it took him until he'd seen the interview to realize how badly they messed up, because if he'd realized it then, his brain might have exploded. Instead, he was just so grateful when they were done and allowed to leave, the three of them piling in the car that would take them to the arena they'd be performing in that night. He wanted some time to think about what was going on, but he also was hoping he could tell his brothers what was going on, why he was so distracted.

They were barely in the car when Dean started bouncing on the seat like a kid who had just heard the _juiciest_ gossip and couldn't wait to share it. "I've got some big news!" he said.

Roman looked at him, puzzled. "What a coincidence, so do I."

"It can't be bigger than my news," Dean disagreed.

"Oh, yes it can, and it is," Roman said, getting that goofy grin he'd been sporting on and off since he got off the phone with Jessica.

"No way," Dean argued, "My news is _huge!_ My news might be the biggest news, _ever!"_

"Mine is huge too!" Roman said stubbornly, but also still grinning as if he were waiting for someone to give him some ice cream.

Seth was sitting across from them in the limo and he glared at both of them, in no mood for them to argue. "I don't care what's going on with both of you,_ I _can top it." Without giving them a chance to argue, he plunged on, _knowing_ he had the top news of the group. "Kayla is _pregnant_."

"You mean Cinnamon," Dean said, brows furrowing.

"No, you mean_ Jessica,_" Roman said.

The three men stared at each other, for a moment as if they couldn't make sense of what was being said, then slowly, like water tricking out of a defective faucet, the situation began to dawn on them. Their stares got wider, yet they remained silent. Could it be? Was it true?

Dean finally broke the silence. "Roman, are you saying_ Jess_ is pregnant?"

Roman nodded. "Yeah, she told me on the phone just before we went on the air. She's about six weeks along. We're figuring it happened while all of us were on vacation, the timing is right.

"That's what Cinnamon and I figure too!" Dean said, his voice getting more and more excited with every word. "She's pregnant, she told me when I called her before the interview and if I just heard Seth right… Seth, are you telling me _Kayla's_ pregnant, too?"

Seth had continued staring at both men, listening, but still trying to process it. But when Dean asked him directly, he found himself nodding, then he found his voice. "Y-yeah," he said softly. "She is. She figures she's about six weeks along too."

"Holy shit," Dean said, half shouting, half laughing. "This means we're all gonna have these kids about the same time!"

The end?

* * *

**Authors Notes: :::Embarrassed grin::: Err, I know, I was supposed to write a vacation story that somehow never got written. I don't know why, but every time I try to write it, I end up drawing a blank. So, I thought I'd leave it and go back to it, but I realized that the future of my world depended on that vacation. For reasons you probably have guessed. All three families are going to grow a little larger.**

**This story was sort of meant to be the epilogue of the vacation story, but it ended up being a story in itself. I still have hopes of someday going back to the vacation story, but at least I feel I can go on now. And while this story is finished, the adventure isn't over, not by a long shot. We'll see how Dean and Seth handle helping to raise a child they have from the start, rather than after they're walking, talking, and toilet trained.  
**

Thank you so much for reading this far. If you wanted to take the time to let me know what you thought, I'd really appreciate it. I've got some awesome readers and I want you to know if it wasn't for your reviews, both on my story or in private, I would not still be writing for this fandom. You folks are the best.


	13. A Little Bit More

**Disclaimer: Original characters are my brainchildren. WWE characters belong to WWE and the Sports Entertainers (AKA, Wrestlers) who created them. There is no need for this disclaimer, we all know it. However, I have noticed that when I have a disclaimer, the title centers itself better on the page, because it's not in the way of the drop down menu for FFnet. Thus, the real purpose for this disclaimer.**

**Special Thanks to:  AeonBlue for giving me advice on how to handle Payton and Seth's conversation. You're the best and if we lived closer, I'd come over with the biggest and best bottle of vodka I could afford! And people? Check out her stuff! She's more than just a great writer's helper, she's a fantastic writer herself and you don't want to miss her stuff.**

* * *

**A Little Bit More**

There were many days of the month, when Seth wanted to work out but was unable to find the time, but there was only one day where he didn't even _plan_ to try to work out. That was the Sunday of the Month when the PPV was being held, and this time, for Hell in a Cell, was no exception. He also had the intention of sleeping as late as he wanted, but old habits die hard and he still found himself waking up at six in the morning, which had become pretty much his normal time.

Kayla was still asleep, curled up beside him, a small smile playing across her lips as if she was having a good dream. As Seth got out of bed, he made sure the covers were securely around her. He had asked her last night if they should have the room warmer as they slept, worried that their usual colder than normal temperatures weren't good for the baby, but Kayla assured him she still wanted a chilly room.

"I like being able to snuggle under the covers," she said smiling. "And, if I get too cold, I'll snuggle up to you."

"That could lead to you not getting your sleep," he warned her, a mischievous grin on his face.

"Unfortunately, little risk of that," Kayla said, shaking her head. "If there's one effect from being pregnant I've noticed, it's that I am almost _always_ tired. Jessica and Cinnamon said this isn't uncommon, that often in the first trimester, that you're just exhausted. I have the nausea, which isn't a picnic, but fortunately, it's not all the time. Mostly, I'm just _sleepy."_

"Do you want to go to sleep right now?" Seth asked, unable to keep part of him from hoping she'd say no. He didn't want to push anything, but this was the first chance he'd had for some alone time with her. He wasn't a brute, if she said she needed sleep, he would live with it, but the last time they had sex might have been the night their baby was conceived, which was almost two months ago.

"No," she said, smiling. "I think I can stay awake for a little while longer… if you give me the right… _incentive."_

He knew a challenge when he heard it and he rose to it admirably.

* * *

They had gone out the night before with Roman and Dean's families, and announced to the kids that they were all going to be big brother and sisters, which lead to a lot of questions, mostly from Leah and Neil. Neil, as it turned out, had already suspected, because his friend Samantha, the oldest of three, had made that guess when Neil told her that his mother had been sent home from work for feeling "lightheaded." Neil seemed to have his reservations about being an older brother, but was also a little excited too, telling his parents that he wanted a little brother, but maybe a little sister wouldn't be so bad. Leah seemed to be thrilled with the whole idea, hoping she'd have a baby sister, offering to share her toys, and help her mom take care of her.

Payton, on the other hand, was mostly silent. She had smiled when the news broke, said that she was happy, but Seth knew her too well. He wondered if this "tell all the kids at once" was a good idea. It had seemed like a good idea when the adults discussed it, but now he thought maybe he and Kayla should have broke it to her when the three of them were alone, so Payton would be free to express concerns. However, he also knew that Payton was the type of girl who liked to think about things before speaking. Even if they had told her alone, she likely would have reacted the same way, tried to smile, pretend this was good news, and look for a chance to be alone to think about it and sort out her feelings. Kayla and Seth had decided that maybe it would be better to tell her in the group, knowing she wouldn't feel as much on the spot with two other kids likely wanting to dominate the conversation with questions and opinions.

_And dominate, they did_, Seth thought, as he pulled on a pair of sweat pants and a t-shirt. Sliding his feet into a pair of slippers, he headed out into the main area of the hotel suite. Off this main area was a small, private balcony with a little glass top table and two chairs. He looked out the glass doors that lead out to the balcony and saw Payton, sitting on one of the chairs in her pajamas, looking out over the city. Even though her back was to him, Seth would have been willing to bet she had that solemn look on her face, the look she wore when she was thinking long and hard.

He opened the door and walked outside, closing the door behind him. "Good morning, Pay-pay," he said, keeping his voice soft as he took the chair across the table from her.

She turned her head in his direction and he saw the circles under her eyes which told him she had not slept nearly as restfully as he had. But she smiled. "Good morning, Da," She looked towards the door, then back to him. "Is Mum awake?"

"Nope, she's sleeping," Seth said. "I guess this pregnancy is making her tired."

Payton nodded. "She naps a lot. And goes to bed pretty early." There was a pause, then she added, "But it's okay, I mean, it's not like she's sleeping _all_ the time. We still talk and stuff and she makes meals and all."

He smiled at her quick defense of Kayla. "It's okay, I guess being tired is normal when you're going through the first part of pregnancy, at least that's what Jessica and Cinnamon have been telling her."

"I guess," she said, giving a tiny shrug. "I was real young when Preston was born, I don't remember if my mom was tired a lot or not."

He nodded. "Speaking of sleep, did you sleep well last night?"

She shrugged again, a noncommittal answer. Seth had some time before he had to start getting prepared for Hell in a Cell, but not as much as he would have liked. He wanted very much to have a long conversation with Payton, one they could ease into slowly, with plenty of time to talk around the situation before getting to the heart of the matter, but he didn't have that luxury.

"How do you feel about being an older sister?" he asked her.

She looked at him, her expression somewhere between bewilderment and indignation. "I already _am_ an older sister."

There was the thing he never felt comfortable about, Preston. Indeed, if you counted Preston, which Payton certainly did, Payton had been an older sister most of her life. The fact that Preston was dead didn't change that, he was still her brother. Kayla and Seth had tried to make sure Payton never felt that she had to give up her brother to be their daughter. She had pictures of him in her room, and a couple of family photo albums on her bookshelf from her early years with her mom and dad, the Caldwells. She still visited her birth mother's grandparents, Kayla had them over for meals and other family events whenever she could. But that didn't mean _Seth_ always felt comfortable bringing Preston up. He never felt it was his place to mention Preston, unless Payton mentioned it first. "Well, yes," he said, hoping he didn't sound like he was scrambling for the right words. "But you're going to become an older sister _again_. How do you feel about that?"

She looked away from him out over the city again. "Good, I guess," she said, then bit her lower lip.

Even though she wasn't looking at him, he was looking at her. "Payton," he said, keeping his voice neutral, "Since the day we met, we've always been honest with each other, right?" She didn't look at him, she didn't answer with words, but he did see her head dip slightly, nodding, so he continued, "So, I want you to be honest. This is you and me, Payton and her Da, talking. How do _you_ feel about Kayla being pregnant."

She squirmed a little in her chair, then looked at him. "I-I don't completely know," she finally admitted, and he knew she was being honest. "I tell myself to think one thing, and I try to think that one thing, but then other things come around too."

"What do you mean?"

She was biting her lower lip again, and rubbing her index finger over her chin, something she did when she was trying to put her thoughts into words but finding it difficult. "Thoughts are like-like _weather." _

"Weather?" he asked, trying not to smile. On the surface, he knew that sounded silly, but he also knew Payton was getting somewhere with this, she just needed to find the words. "How is that?"

"Like if it's raining," she said, warming up to the idea. "You look out and you see that it's raining, so you plan to deal with the rain. You tell yourself that rain is good, that flowers need rain, that everything needs water. So, you put on your rain boots and your waterproof jacket and you go outside thinking you can do this, you can do what you need to do in the rain, it's just rain and you've got all your rain clothes on."

"I can see that," Seth said, nodding to encourage her to continue.

"Then, you get outside," she said, "and you start doing what you need to do. And you got this rain thing covered, but then along comes this horrible wind and it feels like it's blowing right through you and it blows your coat open so that the rain starts hitting your clothes and you keep trying to button your coat but you can't, so now you're wet and your cold and you want to just be okay with the rain, you want to keep focusing on _just_ the rain but you aren't prepared for the wind and you can't stop _thinking_ about the wind, either. And the wind makes the rain seem worse than it really is." She paused, sighed and shook her head. "I'm explaining it all wrong, aren't I?"

"No," he said, shaking his own head in disagreement. "I think I get it. You tell yourself to focus on one thing and not another, but you can't help it, other things creep in, like the wind during a rain storm."

"Yeah." Payton nodded too, but did not look happy that Seth had figured it out. She drew up her leg, letting her foot rest on the chair, resting her chin on her knee.

"So, what do you find yourself thinking about that you wish you wouldn't?" Seth asked her.

Payton kept her head on her knee, but turned it so she could look at her Da. "What-what if-" she stopped and swallowed hard, her forehead breaking into lines of worry. "What if the baby gets sick?"

Seth opened his mouth, starting to say that babies did get sick, and that was okay, when he realized that she wasn't asking about the baby getting a cold or an upset tummy, in Payton's world, sick was a little more serious than that. In Payton's world, "sick" was the code word for something that meant this child wouldn't make it to adulthood, probably wouldn't even make it to puberty. He bit back the assurances he was going to make to her, and paused. "You're not talking about colds and flu and those things every kid gets, right?"

"No." She shook her head quickly back and forth to add power to her words. "I'm talking about _real_ sick. Like Preston was _real_ sick. Preston was so sick it _killed_ him. What if the baby is sick like that?"

He wanted to lie to her, he wanted to tell her there was no way the baby would have childhood cancer or any of those illnesses that shortened life. He wanted to tell her that it just wasn't possible, that he and Kayla were healthy and thus their baby would be healthy, but he knew it would be a lie. He had no guarantees. Odd were that the kid wasn't going to have something like that, but odds were just that, odds. In truth, it was a crap shoot. And odds wouldn't mean as much to Payton anyway, because for years, Payton's primary source of outside input was hanging around in hospitals with Preston and with other kids, kids who were either sick themselves, or had a brother or sister who was as sick as Preston was. For years, in Payton's world, sick and dying children were the norm. She might have friends now who didn't have dying siblings, but for years, pretty much everyone she came in contact with,_ did_. "Payton, I can't promise, 100%, that this baby will be healthy," he finally said, the words coming out slowly, carefully as he thought of each one before he spoke it out loud. "I wish I could, but we both know that's impossible. I will tell you that Kayla and I are healthy and that we'll do everything we can to make sure this baby is going to live a long, healthy life."

"I know that," she said, and her voice was almost a whisper, "but sometimes, that isn't _enough."_

He wanted to go over and wrap his arms around her, but he knew this wasn't the time. Payton was an affectionate child, especially with him and Kayla, but when things were really upsetting her, she would reject comforting until she had things at least somewhat resolved, almost as if she felt affection was a reward she needed to earn, first. "Payton, you're right, sometimes no matter what you do, it isn't enough. I can't guarantee that this child won't get sick. But what I can guarantee is that no matter what, we're a family and we'll handle this as a _family_. All of us, together."

She studied him and he knew his words weren't what she was hoping for, but he also knew she knew he was being honest. "But..." she said, and her voice trailed off.

Seth thought for a moment, letting silence fill the air between them. Again, Payton had lived a life where dying children were the norm, but it wasn't the norm _everywhere_, and he wanted to make her see that, that the odds were in their favor, but he didn't know how. Then, he remembered one of the first PPV's where he and Kayla spent a lot of time with Payton, a PPV that Preston had been able to attend, because Preston had just finished up treatment at St. Judes. "Pay-pay," he said, "how many hospitals do you think there are in the United States?"

She bit her lower lip, looking puzzled at the question, then shrugged. "Lots."

"Yeah," he agreed, warming up to the idea. "There are several right in Davenport, even. Not just regular hospitals, but hospitals that specialize in different things. We have special hospitals for women, for general care, all types of things, right?"

Payton nodded, but said nothing.

"Now, with all those hospitals," Seth continued. "All those close by hospitals, your parents didn't go to any of those with Preston, did they. Where did they go?"

"St. Judes," Payton said.

"Right," Seth agreed. "Because they were the best and for some things, they were the _only_ hospital that could help Preston with his type of cancer. So they went _all_ that way."

"Yeah," Payton agreed.

"Well," Seth said, "If kids got sick with cancer like Preston had, all the time, don't you think they would have a lot more of those types of hospitals?"

Payton had been about to rub her index finger across her chin again, but froze as she heard the words, her index finger posed, hovering just over her chin. After almost ten seconds, her head tipped slightly to one side and she did rub her index finger over her chin, but the corners of her mouth turned up, ever so slightly. "I-I never thought of that," she said, her voice coming slow. "But, that's _true._"

Seth dared to smile at her. "So, you are right, Payton, things happen and kids get sick, but not _all_ kids. Not even _most_ kids. So, I'm betting the odds are that your future brother or sister will be just fine. And if it does turn out that something is wrong, we'll deal with it, as a family, all of us."

Payton slowly nodded and if she didn't look happy, she did look a little relieved, which Seth was grateful for. He often worried that Payton got used to holding weight on her young shoulders from such an early age, that she didn't know how to just let it go, and just realize that it was a child's job to let their parents worry about such things. "So, is that the only thing on your mind about this?" he carefully asked her.

She sighed, shrugged and then nodded. "Yeah."

"Nah," Seth said, shaking his head.

She looked at him, her expression caught between amusement and indignation. "Yes!" she insisted.

"Nah," he shook his head again. "I think there's something else on your mind." He kept his voice light, teasing, gentle, hoping this would put her at ease, that whatever she said was okay. "So, you might as well tell me."

"What if I don't want to?" she asked, the beginning of a grin on her face, which Seth found made his heart soar. He loved it when she was happy, adored it when she smiled.

"Well," Seth said, pretending to give this great thought. "Then I might have to… _tickle_ you."

Her eyes widened. "You _wouldn't!" _

"I _would!" _

Not too many people knew that Payton Rollins was ticklish, that seemed to be something she kept quiet, and indeed, Seth's finding out had been an accident. They had been watching television together, _The Lion King_, if he remembered correctly, one of her favorite movies, and she was slumped on the couch. Her t-shirt had ridden up slightly, exposing her belly, which was slightly rounded at the time, on the verge of a significant growth spurt. Unable to resist the sight of that cute, round little belly, Seth had leaned over and poked her. The giggle fit that started had given her away, and for the next few minutes he had tickled her, making her laugh hysterically, until _The Lion King_ was forgotten. Kayla had finally put a stop to the tickle party by making popcorn and hot chocolate.

Payton wasn't the type of child who loved being tickled all the time, so tickling, and threats there of, were not given lightly. Seth slowly rose from his chair and moved around the table to her. "There's only one way to avoid the tickle monster," he said solemnly, "tell me what's on your mind."

"Never!" Payton protested. She scrunched down in her chair as if to protect herself, but her grin had widened and her eyes were sparkling.

He leaned over and tickled her gently, but persistently, making her shriek with laughter. Eventually, he pulled her out of the chair and sat in it himself, pulling her onto his lap, still tickling her. After a bit though, she turned and twisted in his lap, burying her face in his shoulder. Her shoulders were shaking and for a moment, Seth thought she was still laughing from the tickling, but then he heard a sob. He stopped tickling her. "Payton, what's wrong?"

She sobbed harder for a few seconds, her face buried into his shirt. "I'm afraid I won't fit in, anymore," she finally said, half speaking, half wailing.

He shifted her in his arms, so she was sitting across his lap. There was a napkin sitting on the table, from a late night snack of apples the night before. He picked it up and handed it to her. She took it and wiped her eyes. "I'm afraid I won't fit in anymore," she repeated.

"Fit in where?" Seth asked, although he had a pretty good idea what she meant.

"The _family,_" Payton said, sniffling. "I'm sorry, I _know_ I'm being a baby, and it's wrong, but I can't _help_ it. It's like the wind, I keep _thinking_ about it."

"The family?" Seth continuing to play dumb, although he was sure he knew exactly what Payton meant. "You mean our family? The Rollins? Me, Kayla, you and the baby? How are you _not_ going to fit in? Payton, you made us a family."

She wiped her nose with the napkin and looked at him. "No, you and Kayla were a couple before I came around."

"Yes," Seth agreed, "We were a couple, but we weren't a _family._ We talked about getting married, but we never seemed to find the time. We both got so wrapped up in planning a wedding, that we kept forgetting the most important part, which wasn't to _get_ married, but to _be_ married."

She looked at him, eyes red rimmed. "So you didn't even know if you wanted to be married?"

He shook his head. "No, we knew, we just kept finding excuses not to." He wrapped his arm tighter around her. She snuggled into him, putting her head on his shoulder. "I'll be honest with you, Payton, until I met you, about the only thing I cared about was being a wrestler. Yes, I knew that someday Kayla and I should get married, I even thought that someday we should have children. But it those things always seemed to be someday, never _today."_

"What happened?" Payton asked, sniffling and wiping her nose again with the napkin.

"You, happened, Payton," Seth said, turning his head to look at her. "I remember the first time we went to catering together, you held my hand and I was thinking that anyone seeing us, who didn't know who we were might think we were father and daughter. And I liked that."

"You did?" She smiled, the corners of her mouth raising in a small smile.

"Yeah," Seth said. "And the more I got to know you, the more I realized that I wanted someday to happen sooner than I thought. I realized that I not only wanted to be a husband and a father, but I realized I'd do pretty good at it." He paused to think for a moment, while Payton snuggled further into him, resting her head on his shoulder, her tears drying. "And… when it happened that you needed a family, it never occurred to me or Kayla _not_ to adopt you."

"It didn't?" she asked.

"Nope. I remember being asked what our plans were. And I was surprised because I never thought there was another option. From the moment you lost your old family, as far as I was concerned and as far as Kayla was concerned, you already had a family, us. We never even had to talk about it, we just knew we were going to do everything we could to make you part of our family." He leaned in and kissed the top of her head. "And that's what we did."

"But… I'm not yours," she said. "I mean, I _am_, but I'm _not._ I know adoption means I belong to you, just like I was yours by being born," She wiped her eyes again. "But just because it's like that, doesn't mean it _is _that. I'm not your kid from birth. I have a brother, he's dead, but he's still my brother and this baby won't have a brother named Preston. This baby will have nothing but you and Mum from the start. All their memories… will be of you and Mum. And this baby will be your baby by blood and everything." She stayed on his lap, but she was clearly getting agitated, moving her hands around, rubbing her index finger over her chin. "It'll be your baby. I mean, you could have a girl that looks like both you and Kayla."

"Then she'll be half beautiful," Seth said, thinking the moment needed a little lightening. "The other half?" He brought up his hand and rocked it back and forth. "Not so much."

"Da!" A small giggle escaped her, and she snuggled into him. He was relieved to hear the giggle, but Seth knew she was still worried. "I think you're handsome."

"That's up for debate," he said, wrapping his arm around her again. "But, Payton, seriously, it doesn't matter. Yes, this baby will be our child from the beginning, but that doesn't make him or her more ours than you are."

"I'm afraid it will," she said. "He or she will be yours from the start. They won't know anything but you and Kayla. I know another life."

"That doesn't matter," he said. "Payton, you have to listen to me, because I have to tell you something very important. Are you listening?"

She nodded, but looked away from him, down at her legs.

"No, Payton," Seth said, "you have to look at me for this. Because I have to tell you something, but it's something you can never tell anyone, especially not your future brother or sister. I'm not kidding, Payton, you have to promise me that no matter what happens, you'll never tell them."

She turned her head to look at him, her expression equal mixtures of puzzled and curious. "What?"she asked, looking into his eyes.

"Do you promise?"

She brought her hand down and crossed her index finger over her chest. "Cross my heart, hope to die."

He smiled at the childhood promise. "Payton, remember the wedding? When the three of us danced together and Kayla said that what came next was for us to live happily ever after?"

She nodded. "And I told her that was for fairy tales. And then she said that didn't mean we should ever stop trying."

"Right." Seth smiled at the memory. "We talked too, about how we were going to adopt you. Do you remember that?" When she nodded again, he continued. "I was thinking at that moment, that the odds were that Kayla and I would have other kids. We even mentioned that. And we talked about being chosen family. What is it we said about chosen family?"

"That chosen family never wants to see you hurting or unhappy," she repeated, almost as if it were a vow, her eyes closing as she said it.

"That's right," Seth agreed. "And we _chose_ you, Payton. Kayla and I both did, but _I _chose you first. And when we were dancing together, I realized something. I realized that if Kayla and I had kids, which I figured we would, that I would love those kids with all my heart and soul."

"Yeah," Payton didn't stop looking at him, but he could hear the hurt in her voice.

"But," he continued. "I also knew that no matter how much I loved them, you'd always be my favorite. Not by much, but still, my favorite." Her expression changed to a mixture of caution, but he saw a glint in her eyes that indicated happiness. _She wants to believe, _he thought. _And she _should_ believe. Because it's true. _

"R-really?" she stammered. When he nodded, she did grin. "Wh-why?"

He smiled. "Because I chose you." He wrapped his arms around her, enveloping her into a tight hug. "Payton, I didn't just love you because we're family, we made a family because we love each other. That's the difference. Your future brother and sister, I will love them from the start, but I'm stuck with them. With you, I wanted you to be my daughter. You wanted me to be your da and Kayla to be your mum. And Kayla and I wanted to be your parents. _That's_ the difference. We picked each other. To me, that's a stronger bond than anything. Do you believe me, Payton?"

She was looking at him, and he could see the light shining in her eyes, her pretty eyes that ranged from deep brown to gold. And she nodded. "I think what you're trying to say is… that no matter how much you love the kids you and Mum have, you're going to love me, just a little bit more."

"Exactly!" He hugged her even tighter, kissing the top of her hair as she wrapped her arms around his neck and hugged him back, tightly. "Hey, I have an idea."

"What?"

"I think Kayla would like the chance to sleep in," Seth said, "And I'd like to let her. But, I'm also pretty hungry, so how about we go to the restaurant downstairs and get ourselves some breakfast."

Payton grinned, then looked serious. "But Mum might want breakfast when she wakes up."

"That's fine," Seth said. "I'll leave her a note. If she wakes up and wants us to bring her something from the restaurant, she can text me. Or, if she wants, she can order something from room service."

"That works," Payton said, tipping her head to one side. "Should we call Uncle Dean or Uncle Roman an' see if they're up and want to join us?"

Seth stood up, holding her as he rose from the chair, then putting her down. "No," he said, shaking his head. "I think this is father and daughter only time."

She grinned. "I like that. Father-daughter time." Then she opened the door and ran inside to her bedroom to get dressed.

The End

* * *

**Authors Notes: Yep, it's been awhile, hasn't it? I'm sorry this took me so long to write and publish, but that expression "It never rains it just pours" has been the story of my life. First, I came down with a sinus infection that I am still trying to get over. The infection seems to be gone, but the cold lingers and I get tired quickly.**

**Then, if that wasn't enough, the company I work for was sold and it was up in the air for awhile, if I and others would be able to keep our jobs. This lead into one of the most complicated job applications I've ever had to do. It seemed like everything I did, I had to redo for reasons that were ridiculous. Such as, I live in a town that has "North" in front of it. I have always abbreviated it as N. That caused a rejection in their computer system and I had to do everything all over again.**

**But, as clouds get dark, they eventually clear. For now at least, I have a job with the new company. Things are still settling, so I don't know what the future holds, but for now, I have a job. And, while I still feel like I could sleep half the day away, I don't feel as bad as I did two weeks ago. Every day, I'm getting a little better. So, I hope and pray the worst is behind me.**

**I am going to try to write more often. There are some issues I still have to work through as my job is in the busiest time of the year and it doesn't seem like the company being sold is going to lighten up the load any, and in fact, may make it worse. I can't complain, because it brings more money into the house, but it does cut into my writing time. So, just know that I haven't abandoned my little wrestling world, it just might take me longer to visit.**

**Thank you to everyone who read this far. I really appreciate it. Double thanks to anyone who has followed/favored this story. Triple thanks to anyone who takes the time to leave me a review. Encouragement is what keeps me going.**

**Until Next Time**  
**Peace Out**  
**Willow**


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